


Puff of Smoke

by breakfastbeebo



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Closeted Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Times, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Parent Death, Secret Relationship, clueless friends, minor character hospitalization, secret keeping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 118,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastbeebo/pseuds/breakfastbeebo
Summary: October of his Senior year, Ryan was far more focused on his friend’s upcoming Halloween party than any pending college application. His friends always suggested drinking to resolve his curious behavior at crowded social functions, but they don't know the drunken man waiting in the dining room of Ryan’s home every evening. They don't have a clue, and Ryan vowed after his mother’s death that they never would. Once someone died with his secrets, why dig them up?





	1. Light the Match

_"And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter — they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.” – Sylvia Plath_

* * *

Possibly the only senior privilege Ryan was able to enjoy since coming of the age was eating lunch out of the overcrowded and un-air conditioned high school cafeteria. Others, such as being able to arrive late or leave school early were moot since Ryan didn’t have a car of his own. Since September, he used Pete’s—for both a ride and a lunch table.

Ryan could see Pete’s beat-up Echo in its usual mid-lot spot before he even passed the first row of parked cars—mostly because he could see Gabe sitting on top of it, looking out over the parking lot. He held a hand up and called Ryan’s name, attracting any nearby attention. To avoid any strange looks, Ryan pretended to be looking around for the applauded “ _Ryan Ross the first”_ as well.

“Must you do that _every_ time?” Ryan asked, slinging his backpack off and placing it on the ground by the front tire. Gabe nodded as he folded his legs under himself, settling on his usual seat on the car.

“In middle school, he used to do it every time I walked into homeroom. Imagine being thirteen, awkward, and _non-ignorable_.” William mentioned. He gave Ryan a wide-eyed, shock stricken look before going back to the paper balanced on his lap. “With luck, you’ll both have a few years’ time of mutual, requited pining and one day when you finally confront him and tell him to stop, you have a severe anxiety attack. And when he walks you to the nurse is the first time he holds your hand.” William tucked a hanging strand of his shoulder-length hair behind his ear with poise. “Or, you know, something like that.”

“Just that simple?” Ryan teased, hopping onto the hood of the car beside William, leaning against the windshield.

“Works every time, in my experience.” William said, turning a page of his essay. William twisted a red pen between his fingers, markings covering the pages. Both Gabe and Ryan leaned in to try and read them. Gabe had the upper advantage and nodded along to himself as he scanned the page. Ryan didn’t have as much of a subtle approach.

“What are you working on?” He asked finally. “Looks fucking hard.”

“It’s that world history research essay I’m doing with Patrick.” William explained, his eyes remaining focused on the page. “We have a first draft due by the end of next week. Just doing some light editing.” Gabe scoffed at his word choice. William held up a single finger to respond, not bothering to turn around.

“Speaking of Patrick, where is he?” Ryan asked, craning his neck to try and see the front doors of the school. Ryan scanned the crowd for Patrick’s familiar black glasses and hat combination, but came up empty. “Was he sick today?”

“No, he’s here.” Gabe answered, tapping the hood. “He’s reading something.” Ryan leaned over the side of the car to peer in the driver’s window, seeing Patrick sitting in the passenger seat, book braced against the dashboard. Ryan tapped the window lightly, Patrick’s eyes shooting up immediately. They exchanged short waves and smiles before Ryan let him get back to his work; he respected genuine academic commitment when he saw it. Ryan had gotten through his four years of high school dazzling his teachers with a perfected concoction of brilliance and bullshit. He had more than a few distractions at home that made focusing more than an hour an impossible task.

“How was class so far?” Gabe asked, still reading over William’s shoulder.

“Can’t complain. Two months nearly finished, right?” Ryan shrugged. “And then it’s off to the glue factory.” Gabe nodded with Ryan, laughing quietly.

“You mean _college_.”

“You heard what I said, Beckett.” Ryan laughed, leaning down to grab his backpack and slide his water bottle out of the side pocket. “Hasn’t _Animal Farm_ taught you anything?”

“That book is an allegory for totalitarian dictatorships and communism.” William said, turning to look at Ryan with furrowed eyebrows. “What are _you_ talking about?”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Bill.” Gabe laughed, gently turning William’s head back to the essay. “Let Ryan fail his AP Lit exam all on his own.”

William returned his focus to his essay as Gabe looked at Ryan with confusion, mouthing his own questions about William’s comment. Ryan nodded to agree with William silently, relieving the wrinkles across Gabe’s face. They both went back to their lunches as they listened to William’s pen scratch across the paper. Gabe was attempting to share his with William, and Ryan only had his water—he’d be getting dinner with Spencer later and was sparing his stomach in the meantime.

“Hey!” Pete’s voice was suddenly echoing through the emptying parking lot. “Shoes off the car, Beckett!” Pete was barely off the sidewalk, but he was already pointing at William, taking advantage of the distance to try and gain a vertical advantage. “Better hope you didn’t scuff it up.”

“I didn’t, relax.” William sighed, pushing himself to sit higher against the windshield. “Am I not a careful person?” William asked Ryan and Gabe, rolling his eyes.

“Feet _up_.” Pete exclaimed again. William anticipated the scolding, mouthing the words to Ryan as he crossed his eyes. He lifted his legs vertically into the air, leaning over to see past them and look at Pete with a tense smile.

“There. _Off_.” He said, flexing his feet as Pete approached the car, checking the hood for any blemishes. He had a brown paper bag in one hand, his other still pointing at William firmly.

“You comfortable there, William?” Gabe noted, craning his neck to look at him from a different angle. “Haven’t seen _that_ one in a while—”

“Oh, shut _up_!” Will swung his legs over the side of the car and sat up, whacking Gabe in the arm with his rolled-up essay. They all laughed as Gabe tried to lean away from the paper, nearly falling off the car in the process. In his attempts to stabilize, his heel almost went through the window. Pete slapped both of them on the back of the head before looking into the passenger window. “Go screw, Saporta. Honestly.”

“William, every time I tell you my parents aren’t home, what do you _think_ I am trying to do?” He replied, smirking. It faded quickly as he dodged William’s scolding slap on the arm. Beside him, Pete looked at them pointedly before going back to trying to get Patrick’s attention through the window.

“I _told_ you. Just ease up until I take that Spanish exam on Monday. I need to focus.” William’s tone sounded routine; they had discussed this already. Multiple times, Ryan was sure, both with and without Gabe so poised and polite. Or fully-dressed.

“Dude, you’re being blued over an _exam_?” Ryan tried not to add any of his own amusement to the question; Gabe was well aware of the irony on his own. William looked at Ryan with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, daring him to say more.

“Hey, he’s the one about to get a full ride to college, not me.” Gabe shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with the intensity. It’s time you all did too.” Gabe leaned over and placed his elbows on the roof of the car, hovering beside William’s shoulder.

“You’ve had _six_ years.” William said quietly, turning his head and letting Gabe peck his cheek.

“And I’ve got crazy of my own.” Pete replied with a sigh. He knocked on the window again firmly, but with an unhurried pace. “Pat, would you just open the fucking window? It’s _my_ car.” Pete’s call was finally answered with the slow slide of the window back into the car door. “I went to your locker to get my gym clothes back and found your lunch.” Pete shoved his hand through the window opening. “Please eat it.”

“I was going to. I just got… distracted.” Patrick defended himself quietly, not really arguing. Pete and Patrick had known each other since the womb by all means of time; they got all their useless fighting out over knocking over blocks and hogging the slide.

“Okay. Whatever. Just, don’t _keep_ getting distracted.” Pete insisted, leaning down and resting his arms on the door. “You can stop studying for one second, Patrick. You don’t _have_ to be Valedictorian, you know.”

“Yeah!” William chimed in, leaning over the passenger side to try and speak around Pete. Gabe held his hand out for Will to use for balance. “Give someone _else_ a chance!”

“Would you _both_ stop?” Ryan asked, rolling his eyes. “You guys are stressing over like, two tenths of a point. Who cares? You are both the smartest out of all of us. Gabe’s a fifth-year senior for Christ’s sake.”

“Don’t flatter William by mocking me.” Gabe retorted. “And don’t make Pat feel better at my expense either. That US history class was really hard.”

“You _never went_.” Pete noted, lifting his eyes to stare at the boy sitting on top of his car. Gabe attempted to respond, but let his mouth snap closed as he realized there _was_ no lie to correct. Ryan remembered being in the class with Gabe—actually, he just remembered the teacher calling his name every day for the entire year, and the silence that followed. It was the one core class he needed to get his diploma, and he missed it _every. morning._ No one ever got around to finding out what could have been more important.

As Pete returned his gaze to the car, Patrick was finally closing his book and motioning for Pete to step back and let him out. Ryan and William shuffled around on the hood and made room for him, Ryan pulling his feet under himself, careful to not drag his feet over the hood. Pat sat on the hood near Ryan, his shoes bumping against the front tire. Patrick smoothed the paper bag over his lap as he placed his food on top of it. Both Ryan and Gabe eyed it with interest, but let Patrick have it; Patrick had enough on his plate academically to mean he needed every last bite from the one in front of him.

“Where’s Spence?” Pete asked, stealing a chip from Patrick.

“Drumline practice.” Ryan replied. “He said he wanted to use the practice room while it was free.”

“And that reminds me,” Patrick chimed in, holding his bag of chips out to Pete, knowing that he was going to eat all of them anyway. “we’re going to the game tonight, right?”

“We have to.” Ryan said firmly. “I’ve heard Spencer practice his drum part so many times that I hear it in my _sleep_. He is _so_ fucking excited for first snare. We have to go.” Ryan looked around to see affirmative nodding from the other boys, silently consulting with each other. Typically, they avoided football games, seeing as though their interests failed to overlap with the sport at all. Instead, the two circles of the Venn diagram became the lenses of the microscope that honed in on them anytime they attended a school function. “And besides, I think we’re playing against that pretentious religious school down the street.” Ryan added. “That’s going to be a piss riot to watch.”

Ryan almost got stuck attending the stiff boarding school after his parents divorced. Hinckley Academy was a suggestion made by a school-assigned social worker trying to give Ryan more guidance. Ryan was able to snake his way out of the idea, but then the soon-after death of his mother put him right back in the admissions office, sweating under his pressed collar. Every one of Ryan’s middle school councilors thought Ryan was putting on a brave face when he insisted he was _fine—“_ fucking fine”, but Ryan was glad that wasn’t put in his records—but for the last referral meeting of Ryan’s middle school career, he put a thumb tack in his shoe to make himself cry and spewed enough bullshit about being separated from _the only family he had left_ , and followed Spencer to Palo Verde. Ryan couldn’t wait to see what he wasn’t missing. Religion wasn’t going to bring his mother back and sure as hell wasn’t going to stop his dad from drowning in his newest lover: warm cheap beer.

“I don’t think I’m going to go tonight.” William said, shrugging. Ryan snapped out of his trance to stare at William, demanding a reason. “I have a lot of studying to do.”

“Come _on_! You promised him!” Ryan argued. “Spencer will do a headcount from the fifty-yard line and you know it.”

“I _know_ , but I don’t think I can do it.” William repeated. “I have to study.” The group collectively sighed, knowing that his decision was final. They knew they couldn’t compete with such damning conviction. Except for maybe Gabe, who was already preparing his argument.

“Why can’t you just take a day off?” He asked, placing his hands on William’s shoulders, shaking them back and forth playfully. William pressed his lips together to fight the smile slowly appearing on them. “Not even a day? A few _hours_.”

Since Ryan knew William, he had a black string choker around his neck, and fiddled with it whenever he was particularly flustered—whether it be from school or from Gabe’s smooth-talking. All of them waited in extended silence as he chewed his lip, his fingers rolling the string between his fingers. Gabe continued shaking his shoulders, waiting for William to break into a full grin.

“I’ll think about it.” William said finally. Gabe lifted his hands in victory, Ryan clapping and starting praise for his persuasion. Pete jokingly waved Gabe down, trying to get him to sit on his shoulders to be paraded around the parking lot. Gabe was somehow always successful. “All of you are assholes.”

“They know.” Patrick said, turning to look at William over his shoulder. “They don’t really mind, I don’t think.”

“We really don’t.” Gabe agreed, leaning over further and letting his arms hang over William’s shoulders and rest on his chest. “It’s all how you persuade.”

“Pretty sure he only agreed to a football game, Gabe.” Ryan reminded him, swinging his legs over the car and hopping off. “Zip up, man.”

Gabe’s undoubtedly _pleasant_ reply drowned in the long tone of the lunch bell, calling all the students back to their classrooms. Ryan grabbed his backpack and shrugged at Gabe innocently, their exchange still unheard. As the tone finally stopped, it was William who was actually speaking, telling them all he’d meet them in the stands that night. They collectively waved to William, who lifted the hand he had joined with Gabe’s, and they watched him join the mass of students flooding back to face the second half of the day.

Ryan adjusted his bag straps as he checked the ground around the car for any loose papers or dropped books; his backpack had the awful habit of forming holes—had been since the seventh grade. He reached around to feel the underside of his bag and found the patches he and Spencer had messily doctored over the bottom still intact. Checking one last time around his feet, Ryan went to follow William and Gabe, but felt a hand reach out to grab him.

“Hey, you want me to pick you up tonight?” Pete had a pleasant expression on his face, but Ryan was expecting a smirk. That was how it appeared the last time he had heard that sentence. Ryan thought that was over. It had been before the first bell of senior year—Pete knew that.

“What?” Ryan swallowed his other questions.

“For the game? Do you need me to drive you home and pick you up?”

“Oh… No. I think I’m just going to hang out with Spencer until the game.” Ryan replied honestly, although he was sweating like it was a lie.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Pete smiled and nodded quickly, brightening his smile as Patrick walked past them, waving. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.” Ryan said, his tone trying to keep the conversation alive, but his body turning away from Pete. “See you later.”

“Text me if anything changes.” Pete called after him. Yeah, Ryan would be _sure_ to let Pete know when there was a lift in his discomfort.

Ryan just had another three periods after lunch and he could be back in the band room, listening to Spencer beat out the _same_ six measures until his hands blistered. It was a far better past time than it sounded. Ryan didn’t need much entertainment anyway; he and Spencer didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy the company of the other. Much like Pete and Patrick, they had surpassed all levels of friendship and instead would seek out the presence of the other in order to relax completely and feel at ease.

Since the school year started back up, most of Spencer’s time had been consumed by drumline and band practice. They still saw each other on the weekends— Spencer lived six houses down from Ryan—but Ryan still missed having Spencer be there for every moment of his day. It was easier than having to remember it all to tell Spencer later; Ryan had the unbreakable habit of leaving things out. They managed the separation though, only a month and a few consolation games until the football season was over and Spencer would return to them, attention undivided and hands slowly healing. With Spencer gone, Ryan felt disconnected; living in incomplete sentences.

Ryan had everything he needed in his bag and didn’t have to make any stops on his way from the parking lot to the second floor. Last year, Gabe and Ryan were meant to be in the same history class, and coincidentally that year shared a calculus class. Ryan wasn’t sure why Gabe would sign up for an AP calculus class if math wasn’t something he had secondary—or even tertiary—interest in. Actually, he could probably name one reason, and it was passing Ryan in the hallway, twisting his choker again, grinning to no one but himself. Ryan didn’t think it was _that_ bad of a reason—he’d be hard pressed to find a more convincing one.

“William _finally_ explained rate of change to me.” Gabe sighed, tapping a set of notes on his desk. Ryan struggled to see the lined paper between the scribbles of ink as he took the seat beside him.

“Derivatives aren’t that bad. I told you that.” Ryan nodded, taking his books out of his bag.

“No, not derivatives. Rate of change.” Gabe corrected, lifting the paper to show Ryan.

“Derivatives are… You know what, never mind, man.” Ryan laughed and placed his textbook on the desk, flipping to the paged he had wedged his homework in. The teacher never approved of his wrinkled and frayed edges on assignments, but Ryan was yet to encounter an answer that was marked wrong because of it. When his methods impaired his performance, he’d change. Until then, he didn’t own any folders. Most of them ripped freshman year and couldn’t find a replacement.

Ryan didn’t think he was an unorganized or messy student, he just tried to carry as little books as possible to try and extend the life of his backpack for just the remainder of his time at high school. That meant books doubling as folders, stickynotes doubling as full notebooks, and passed back assignments becoming scrap paper. Patrick wildly disapproved the first time he saw the inside of his backpack, but as Ryan pointed out, there wasn’t a single paper out of place or loose. Everything had a place, sometimes it just wasn’t where it wanted to be.

* * *

Ryan’s government teacher was in the middle of explaining the finer points of lobbying when the last bell rang, destroying the train of thought forever. Ryan couldn’t have been more thankful; his hand was cramping as he attempted to follow the teacher’s on-going lecture. He dropped his pen and began closing his books to fully enjoy the first few moments of the weekend. The rest of the class began to file out of the room, brushing past the teacher still attempting to complete his thought. One head could be seen trying to push against the flow and _enter_ the classroom even though the school day was over.

“Hey, Spence!” Ryan said, waving to the boy emerging from the cluster of eager students. “How are you?”

“Sweating bullets.” Spencer replied shortly, raising his eyebrows. “You?”

“About the same.” Ryan laughed, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “But for far less important reasons than first snare.” Ryan clapped him on the back as he wrapped and arm around his shoulders, walking him out the classroom door. “Proud of you, Spence.”

“I know.” He nodded. “You still have to go to the game though.”

“Believe me, I’m the coordinator for the damn event tonight.” Ryan said. “Roped in all the guys during lunch. Gabe’s probably going to bring Will kicking and screaming, but we’ll all be there.”

“Really?” Spencer seemed genuinely surprised, turning to grin at Ryan.

Ryan wasn’t sure why he would be surprised, seeing as though they had all been friends since freshman year—some longer. They went to every academic bowl William and Patrick competed in, every poetry slam Ryan _said_ he would read for, every award presentation for each other—why wouldn’t they go to see Spencer and the marching band at halftime? At least at this one, they could sit and mock anyone they found particularly amusing instead of having to wait until they were all in the parking lot to do so. They also had the chance to be the most loud and obnoxious group of teenagers there without the threat of being thrown out.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ryan assured him, patting him on the chest. “Anything for you, Spencer.” Ryan twisted his smile into a mock grimace, nearly about to vomit at the sentimental exchange.

“And to think, Ryan, all your old therapists said you would have intimacy issues.” Spencer laughed, nudging his side.

By all accounts, Spencer was practically at every therapy session Ryan was forced into. Ryan had dragged him along to sit in the waiting room, ready to supply comfort afterward. Ryan was twelve and suddenly being left with a person who only had his name in common with him—Spencer was the last person Ryan had from his childhood. Spencer knew every word of each session and knew every thought Ryan shared in them, having heard them all first. Spencer liked mocking all the professional opinions that discouraged the idea that Ryan would be able to move on from his turbulent childhood—Spencer thought laughter would prove to be optimistic. Spencer did have a better idea of who Ryan was and was going to become than the school-hired councilors that looked at Ryan’s life as events on a page. Spencer saw Ryan as a person, not a pitiful child with his entire family torn in half with him straddling the middle, ready to topple over at any moment. Spencer was the one stable person in Ryan’s life, with a seeming inability to leave his side.

But Ryan knew not all people were like that. He saw it firsthand, staring at the car that pulled away from his house, carrying a cargo that he wouldn’t see again until it was lowered into the ground and capped with a headstone. There was an undeniable comfort that Spencer would never stray far from him, but when it came to other people—even the stranger that lived in his house with him—that promise was less pronounced. Anyone could leave Ryan. At any time. Commitment was just a promise made in a moment, fleeting the next. It could be a lie and Ryan would be blind to their deception. Ryan discovered this fear last summer—this need to leave _first_ —mind burning and running blank as he writhed across the leather seats he sat in every morning on the ride to school.

“You’re hungry, right?” Spencer asked, feeding the code into his locker. The hallway was starting to clear and Ryan leaned against the locker beside him, knowing its owner was gone by then. “Wanna get our usual?”

“I’m _starving_.” Ryan replied before Spencer had finished his sentence.

“Me too; didn’t get to eat lunch. Let me drop this off in the band room and we can start walking over.” Spencer threw his backpack over his shoulder and checked what he was leaving in his locker a final time.

“There he is!” Spencer and Ryan both turned to see Pete strolling down the hallway towards them. “The man of the hour!” Spencer closed his locker and started for Pete, meeting him halfway.

“What are you up to, Pete? Thought you’d have left by now.” Ryan noted casually, hoping he hadn’t waited around for him.

“Pat has some student council meeting thing. Asked me to wait for him and drive him home.” Pete explained, shrugging because honestly, what _else_ would he be doing. “But what about you, Spencer? Excited?” Pete redirected.

“Yeah… Super nervous though.” Spencer admitted. He had been in marching band since he started high school, but mid-season tryouts last week suddenly bumped him out of his comfort zone in third snare to the lead first snare. No amount of practice was going to calm Spencer’s nerves before he had a chance to go through the performance once, all his friends, his mother, and two sisters waiting eagerly.

“We’re all really excited to see you kill it… Well, as much as you can kill a Sousa medley.” Pete smiled at Spencer and made Ryan forget, just for a second, all the ways he had made it into a grimace before.

“Ryan was just telling me you guys are all going?” Spencer still sounded incredulous.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it.” Pete assured him, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll catch you guys later tonight, alright?” He began walking past them, turning to walk backwards and leave one last comment with them: “I’ll have my phone with me, Ryan.” Now it seemed his benign offer was trying to become more of a request, but Ryan and Spencer had plans; whatever talk Pete was attempting to coordinate could wait. Or it could just never happen.

Pete disappeared around the corner of the hallway, leaving Ryan to be the first to crack their frozen positions and start walking towards the band room, acting clueless to Pete’s insinuation. Spencer was quick to catch up.

“What was _that_?” Spencer laughed, shoving Ryan’s side. “Thought that was a closed book. Very closed. Closed, locked, and burned.”

“It was. It _is_.” Ryan said sharply. “He’s just trying to be nice. Things are still a little awkward when it’s just us.”

“Was I _not_ just next to you?” Spencer noted flatly.

“So it’s awkward all the time.” Ryan admitted. “But that doesn’t mean anything is happening.”

“Right.” Spencer nodded, sounding unconvinced.

“I’m serious. It didn’t work out for a reason.” Ryan insisted, avoiding Spencer’s bland expression by opening the band room door first, motioning him to step in. “When it was fun, it was great. But, when we tried to make it something it wasn’t, we just didn’t mesh.” Ryan had tried to be that kind of boyfriend that could talk for hours and listen to every problem on the other’s mind. He tried and failed equally. Every time Pete would try to coax him into being the same Ryan that Spencer knew, something in Ryan locked up. He felt like he was being manipulated, like he was being interrogated, and shut down—shutting Pete out immediately. They couldn’t keep going like that, and they were smart enough to figure it out before things started to wear on them and their friendship. It was a good three months, Ryan had never felt more alive; fear has that ability.

“I’m sure there was a lot of meshing.” Spencer muttered, placing his bag down by the grated lockers lining the back wall of the room. “And I’m sure tonight there will be more.”

“Tonight?” Ryan echoed, shocked and slightly worried. “Why do you say that? What did Pete say? W- _What_?”

Spencer took a moment to clock Ryan’s panicked expression before speaking. “He didn’t have to say anything. And, actually, neither did you.” What signals were Ryan apparently projecting that made it seem like he was open to that kind of commitment? Whatever it was, he had to cut it the fuck off, _immediately_. Pete had every excuse to be weird if Ryan was the one being weird _first_. God, Ryan was so fucking helpless. All he wanted was to be left alone, ironically enough. Alone on his own terms. “Now, if you’re done pointlessly denying the truth, would you like to get dinner?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.” Ryan said dryly. “I’m hungry, but I’m not finished with this.”

“Yes you are.” Spencer replied without argument. “Let’s go.”

“This isn’t over.” Ryan muttered.

“Eh, you can tell me all the horny details tomorrow.” Spencer winked overdramatically, laughing at Ryan’s gibberish mockery of his sentence. Spencer placed an arm around Ryan’s shoulders and attempted to pull his slumped shoulders back. “Come on, stop being petulant and tell me what you’re going to get from Rojo’s.”

Ryan swallowed his rebuttal as he followed Spencer out of the band room, turning down the hallway for the closest exit doors. Rojo’s was a small, local Mexican food place just a few blocks from the school. It was Ryan and Spencer’s favorite place, the restaurant only fitting about three tables and counter seats. Spencer and Ryan always tried to decide what they would order on the walk over, but would end up just ordering the usual half pound burrito and splitting it between the two of them. Ryan couldn’t eat a full one and Spencer insisted he couldn’t perform on a full stomach; Ryan never knew drumming to have so many occupational hazards. All Ryan knew is the more he was chewing, the less he would be talking; give him something other than his foot to put in his mouth.

* * *

By the time they were walking back to the school, Ryan was still carrying and working on his half of the burrito. From the street, they could see the buses pulling up to the school and letting the other team’s players off and into the locker rooms. Foreign cars were pulling into the parking lot, white of and navy shirts, hats, and pom-poms covering the new bodies that climbed out of them.

Ryan followed Spencer as he snaked through the near full parking lot, finally reaching the front doors. The hallways were empty and the path to the band room was clear—no student council members (or their rides) were seen anywhere. He trailed behind as Spencer joined the frenzy of other student getting into band uniforms and tuning instruments. Most of the other players knew Ryan from being around consistently for the past three years, but he didn’t know any of their names. He smiled anyway, wishing the best of luck to every person that spared the few seconds for him.

Ryan sat quietly in the back corner, resting between two empty baritone cases and watching Spencer try and claps his uniform collar, his drum harness rising every time he lifted his arms.

“Need help?” Ryan asked quietly, tucking his legs in to let a tuba player pass by. “I have more mobility than you.”

“No. I’m fine.” Spencer grumbled, leaning forward as he tried again, nearly toppling over. “ _Ryan_.” Spencer sighed, his hands dropped to his side heavily.

“I’ll do it, come here.” Ryan offered. Spencer crouched next to him, lifting his chin and letting Ryan fiddle with the metal clasps. The green collar rose to rest just under Spencer’s chin, choking him if he ever looked down. If Spencer didn’t have a glittering smile and sparkling eyes as the two sides clicked together, Ryan would have sworn it was severely uncomfortable. “There, all clasped in.”

“Thank you.” Spencer said, tugging on it and readjusting the harness underneath. Spencer spoke at an appropriate volume, but in the sudden silence of the room as the conductor walked in Spencer seemed to be yelling at him. “I think we’re going to practice pre-game, you should probably take off.” Spencer whispered, ducking his head to avoid the eyes looking for his voice.

“Don’t mention it.” Ryan affectionately adjusted Spencer’s epaulets, straightening the stars that lined them. “Have fun tonight, Spencer. Look for the crowd of five assholes—well, three and then two unamused young adults.”

“I’ll be on the lookout.” Spencer promised, grinning again. “See you after the game, Ry.” He waved as he picked up his sticks and joined his snare line. Ryan winked as he stood and headed for the door.

Ryan left the band room quickly and headed for the field. The stands were already filling up with green and black shirts and face paint. The football team could be heard clambering around in the locker room behind the stands, Ryan walking slightly faster past them as he heard the sound of cleats against the tile floor. Ryan climbed the small stairs to the bottom landing of the stands, scanning for a familiar face he could sit with. He just had to look for someone _not_ sporting their school’s colors.

Finally, Ryan spotted Gabe and William sitting in the middle row. Although, both were looking only at each other, barely noticing Ryan as he began climbing the stairs to them. William was laughing quietly, hand resting on Gabe’s leg, fiddling with the seam running along the inside of his leg. Ryan sat down beside to Gabe, but neither noticed, speaking in hushed tones.

“Am I interrupting something?” Ryan asked loudly, waving a hand at them. William was the first to look at Ryan, blinking the adoration from his eyes and looking sheepishly at his friend.

“Lo siento.” William said, twisting his choker again. Ryan waited for Gabe to turn before he allowed all his confusion to show on his face.

“What did you say?” Ryan asked, raising his eyebrows. “I _must_ have had a minor stroke.”

Gabe turned himself farther away from William, looking smug. “I got William to pry himself away from his greater love by promising to help him study for his Spanish exam… by speaking only Spanish.” Gabe explained nonchalantly, shrugging.

“Count me as impressed, Gabriel. Quite a deal you’ve got there.” Ryan muttered, trying not to let William overhear. “You driving him home, too?”

“About five steps ahead of you, Ross.” Gabe laughed, wiggling his fingers as he waved Ryan off. “Felt him up on the drive here.” Gabe tried to smirk, but his expression was overtaken by shock as the boy beside him smacked him harshly upside the head. “ _Ow_.”

“Who felt up who?” Pete asked casually, walking up and sitting next to Ryan. The parents sitting down in front of them slowly craned their necks to see the four of them. William gave them a forced smile, rolling his eyes and laughing. The moment the parents turned back to the field, William’s expression hardened, staring between Pete and Gabe. His jaw clenched as he held back a response—both in English and Spanish. “It’s alright, Will. You can talk about it.” He finished the sentence with a long sip on the straw sticking out of his cup.

William’s response was short and even, neither Pete or Ryan understanding it. Ryan shook his head at them, turning back to the field, while Pete coughed, nearly choking on his drink.

“W..What is happening?” Pete muttered in Ryan’s ear, still wiping soda off his chin. “Did we sit on the remote and accidently get Spanish Will?”

“It’s how Gabe got him here. It’s apparently considered studying.” Ryan explained. “Seems like he’s fluent enough though… Not that I would know.”

“You think he’s mad?” Pete asked, trying to hear Gabe’s soothing remarks, but it was in a language neither could decode. “Or is that just from the uncertainty that I _don’t_ know if he’s trying to kill me?”

“No. I think he’s just embarrassed. You know Will.” Ryan assured Pete. His tone alone was comforting enough, but for some reason he found it necessary to place his hand on Pete’s knee. They both noticed immediately, but not a word was said about it. “He’s more poised than all of us. Like Patrick.”

“Right.” Pete nodded. “He never tells me anything about this stuff either.” Ryan knew Patrick wasn’t the only one keeping secrets from Pete.

“Where is he, by the way?” Ryan lifted his hand from Pete’s leg to motion to the empty seat beside him.

“That student council thing earlier was to decide who was going to sell food today—so, obviously, Patrick volunteered.” Pete said, lifting his horrendously designed _Palo Verde_ _Stu-Co_ paper cup and laughed. “And of course, I gave him the only three dollars in my pocket.”

“What a good friend.” Ryan joked, touching Pete’s leg again lightly, trying to change the tone and make it casual, but Pete’s hand came down on top of Ryan’s and made it impossible. Pete had a concerned look in his eyes, attempting to start a silent dialogue with him. He was trying to finish sentences that Ryan had purposely left hanging. He was trying to get answers while Ryan had none to give. He didn’t even have any for himself. It was all empty lines with answers that never matched.

“I’m trying.” Pete said quietly. “Believe it or not.”

The guilt was almost as suffocating as the panic, the feeling of Pete smiling from across his empty dinner table and asking about him, about his life, his past, things Ryan kept close to himself—even if Pete had gotten closer. Ryan pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair nervously, hoping to look more casual than the nervous bubble of laughter that escaped the lips Pete had fixated his eyes on. Ryan stood from the bench quickly, hoping to escape, but somehow everyone else seemed to do the same; the band was suddenly on the field and playing the national anthem. Ryan’s sudden will to disappear became patriotic, showing excitement for the first snare player starting the song off with a drum roll. Pete barely noticed Ryan’s premature rise to his feet. He didn’t notice Ryan hadn’t meant to let him continue with his questions. The conversation had been stretching out since August and hadn’t come to an end yet; Ryan was eager to know both dates on the tombstone.

“Spencer looks so proud.” Pete noted, sitting down as the two teams ran onto the field after the song finished, the band walking off the track.

“I told you, he’s been practicing for _months_.” Ryan repeated, waving to the drummer and getting a smile in return. “His shit for their halftime is pretty good.” He tried to keep the focus on Spencer.

“Are you leaving after halftime?” Pete asked, finding an opportunity in the most innocent of conversations.

“Uh, I don’t know.” Ryan muttered, shrugging. He could already feel Pete’s offer weighing heavily on him. “Whenever Gabe leaves, I guess. He’s my ride home—right, Gabe?” Ryan nudged him harshly, trying to pull him into the conversation.

“What?” Gabe asked, turning away from William slowly. He stared at Ryan, looking between him and his side where Ryan hit him. “What do you want?”

“You’re my ride tonight, right?” Ryan repeated, keeping his tone overtly even and measured. Gabe didn’t have any information to lead him to the assumption Ryan was trying to avoid Pete, and Ryan was praying he’d just go along.

Gabe looked confused and lost, but he nodded along anyway. “Yeah, I’m driving you home. You and Will. Like we agreed.” Ryan didn’t have to know Spanish to hear the confusion in William’s voice as he spoke to Gabe. Luckily, Pete accepted it without hesitation.

“Oh, alright. Let me know if you don’t want to ride home with them.” Pete’s attempts were persistent, but no less unwanted. Ryan wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about, but obviously, it wasn’t suited for the public. Their summer relationship was between them completely (except for Spencer). They never had a conversation too loudly or in public; they left no tracks. They were practically hiding from themselves. Pete wanting to drive him home, isolating them and keeping them from any one place, was a sure sign that Pete wanted to try and talk with Ryan again _._ Try and twist Ryan’s arm into being _his_ again. To get Ryan’s hopes high enough that if dropped, he could shatter.

Ryan’s faint reply was masked by an eruption of cheering around them. The stands jumped to their feet and left Pete and him in an involuntary bubble, their words able to fall through the excitement. Everyone else committed them to each other. The minute one stood, the other would be left behind, staring up and hoping to catch the words falling down around them.

Ryan got to his feet immediately, nearly toppling over into the parents in front of them. He wasn’t sure what excuse me made to start pushing past Pete and the people sitting beside him, but Ryan was taking the stand stairs two at a time and rushing out of the mobs of people attempting to go past him. He wasn’t sure if there was even an attempt to call after him. Ryan walked until he couldn’t hear anyone anymore.

He stopped behind the stands, near the locker room, standing in the patch of grass worn to dirt by the thousands of shuffling teenage feet. Ryan only clocked three other people near him—two disappeared towards the locker room and one was on the corner of the meeting fences, lighting a cigarette, oblivious to him. Ryan never smoked, but his father had had the habit for most of his life—both his parents did. He was always curious, but if his father had _one_ conversation with him, it was to tell Ryan to never pick up the habit. But Ryan never saw one person look unhappy about taking those slow breaths closer to death. Every time his mother was smoking on the front porch, listening to Ryan, she would always be smiling. No matter what words stumbled out of Ryan’s mouth, or what poisoned puffed out of hers, she would have a smile on her face.

“Ryan?” Ryan pretended he was surprised by Pete’s concerned tone of voice. “Ryan, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just needed to stretch my legs.” Ryan replied

“You’ve been sitting for less than twenty minutes.” Pete retorted, still walking after him. Luckily, Ryan had about a six inch advantage taking him farther away than each of Pete’s steps. “Is everything okay?”

“Really, I’m fine.” Ryan insisted.

“Ryan, would you stop _walking_? I’m trying to _talk_ to you!”

“I don’t want to talk right now.” Ryan rebutted.

“You don’t know what I’m going to say—didn’t know you could read my mind.” Pete shot back quickly. Ryan could never forget how sharp Pete was at reminding him that he was the one who left Pete. That Ryan had gotten everything he wanted, but was upsetting someone in the process. “God knows I can’t say the same for you.”

“This is not the fucking time or place, Pete.” Ryan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, can’t you see that I—”

“I can’t see _dick_ about you, Ryan!” Pete replied, arms going up in exasperation. “I’m out of ideas, Ryan.” Pete stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I did. You keep giving me all these mixed signals—”

“Let me clear it up for you.” Ryan said slowly, taking a deep breath. “The summer is over. What happened—what we did—that’s not going to happen again. We’re friends. That’s _it_. Nothing more.” Nothing more attached.

“I’m _trying_ to be your friend.” This was Pete’s idea of mending a broken heart. This was what Pete thought was helping. He really didn’t know anything about Ryan. And for some reason, that was comforting.

“Then leave me alone.” Ryan said quietly, his temper plummeting as Pete made himself small in front of Ryan, willingly and shamelessly, Pete backing down all on his own. “I just—I just need to be left alone.” The space would be comforting. He could be alone in his own secrets, his own thoughts. He could continue to share them with only himself, trading them with the quiet part of himself that somehow ended up curling its fingers around every memory.

“Fair enough.” Pete nodded, exhaling slowly. “Here for you, Ryan. If you ever—”

“I know.” Ryan clapped Pete on the arm, keeping him at distance before their exit. “Gonna just walk around and I’ll be back.” He promised, nodding towards the stands. “Save my seat?”

“Of course.” Pete cracked a smile before leaving Ryan with the still-smoking cigarette butt.

Ryan stepped over to it, twisting his heel on it, trying to stop the strings of smoke from fluttering up toward him. No one ever looked unhappy smoking a cigarette. The cigarette wasn’t even half burnt, the person having taken a few drags before tossing it aside. It couldn’t have been worth all that trouble if he wasn’t happy. Then again, Ryan supposed that was what addiction was. He was a cigarette: slim, disposable, still-smoking, always known to cause a smile even though he was well aware of how he was tarring your insides.

Once the cigarette was extinguished and silenced, Ryan started for the locker rooms, heading for the bathroom. Some cold water would shake him out of his mood. He’d have a bright smile waiting for Spencer in the stands, waving and cheering him on. He just needed a moment alone to sort through the words begging to surface. He needed to coax them back down to sinking in his stomach again.

The locker room was empty as expected. Ryan’s shuffled steps over the tile floor were his only company as he crossed the room, stepping over shoulder pads and cleats left on the floor. He used his shoulder to nudge the bathroom door open roughly. Ryan was startled to find more lively company just on the other side. There was a bulky and muscular guy standing close to the wall beside the sinks, another set of feet seen between his own, hovering above the floor. The bathroom door had squeaked as Ryan pushed it open, his presence already as pronounced as the quiet grunting echoing around the walls.

“Put a sock on the door or something, guys. Come on.” Ryan muttered, clearing his throat. “That corner isn’t nearly dark enough.” He scoffed, holding his hands up as he went to back out of the door.

The two faces turned to look at him quickly, flushed and surprised. Ryan could count on his one hand how many times he had been in that same position, flushed and panting and completely ignorant to the rest of the world except the one he found in his arms. He knew he didn’t have enough experience to know much of _anything_ , but there was something about their faces that didn’t sit well with him, no matter how much he wanted to slip away without further interaction.

He knew he didn’t know what his own face looked like in the act, but from the one time Ryan stumbled into the wrong room and found William and Gabe in a corner, he had a pretty vivid memory. William’s eyes were half-lidded, his expression bordering on nothingness as his mouth hung open—everything was lax and completely lost. The boy against the wall contradicted every expectation Ryan had; his eyes were wide open, his jaw tight, and lips pressed together in a white line. His hair hung in his face, messed up and pulled in different directions, but none with a purpose. He looked at Ryan with shock, desperation shining in his eyes.

“Is everything alright in here?” Ryan asked, stepping closer. From his advancement, he could see how their bodies were pressed together; the one with his back to Ryan had a fistful of the shorter boy’s shirt, crumpling the white polo and the academy’s emblem with a forceful grip. “Why don’t you let the kid go, tough guy?” Ryan said, pressing his fingers again his shoulders with light, feared pressure.

Ryan felt suddenly responsible for the violence about to boil over in front of him. There was no reason for it. No one was drunk. No one was getting a divorce. No one had gotten a D on a history test. There was nothing that gave reason to put that kid’s hands on the boy, lifting him up against the wall. The view from halfway up the wall was one Ryan knew to be one breathtaking for far different reasons than the ability to see new heights.

“Fuck off, Ross.” Ryan couldn’t remember the kid’s name even if there was money on the table, but at least now he knew they were acquainted in some way.

“I would in a heartbeat, believe me, but I’m _really_ not morally allowed to let you pound the shit out of this kid—no matter which way you interpret that.” Ryan said, continuing to push on his shoulder. “Leave the kid alone.”

“Stay out of this, Ross. He _followed_ me in here.” He shoved the boy against the wall harshly, his head smacking against the tile. The boy bit his lip, trying to choke back his pain laced groan.

“I did _not_.” The boy argued, his voice and body straining against its hold.

“Did I _say_ you could talk?”

“Alright, alright. Couple’s therapy is over. Get off of him.” Ryan said more sternly, slapping the guy on the chest. “Just because he’s small doesn’t mean you should rough him up. Pick on someone, quite literally, your own size.”

“I could take _you_ instead, Ross. How about that?” He laughed, dropping the other boy. He somehow shrank another inch as his feet reached the floor, pressing himself against the wall to try and slip away from the two of them.

“You could.” Ryan agreed, swallowing and scrambling for another quip. “But… how about Gabe?” Ryan was pleased by the paling face in front of him; if that had failed, he wouldn’t be alive to watch halftime. “Yeah, you remember the last time you tried to fuck with him, right? Oh, how about that time you ‘ _accidentally_ ’ banged Will’s head into a locker? I’m _trying_ to remember who cried more that day… It’s not coming to mind.” It honestly wasn’t, but it was mostly from Ryan’s eyes spotting with white from his unnoticed held breath.

“Alright, alright, shut up!” The nameless student turned between the other boy and Ryan, his expression trying to remain furious and not at all hurt. “Fucking _fairy_.” He spat, shouldering Ryan as he passed, going for the door.

“At least he’s not stupid.” Ryan muttered, walking over to the sink and turning on the cold water. Ryan’s temper was not nearly as pulsing as it had been, but he could still feel the guilt-filled eyes on his face, the cold water wiping him clean. Ryan splashed the water up into his face repeatedly, taking a slow breath and trying to shake the feeling that he had done something wrong.

“I was handling that just fine.” The boy said, still beside Ryan. “I didn’t need you to help me.”

“Right.” Ryan hummed, using his sleeve to wipe his face. “Because you were just, what? Letting him warm up? Getting him right where you want him? Trying to let him kill you?” Ryan laughed and fixed his hair in the mirror. It hung around his ears loosely, the curls tiring out as the day went on. He seemed to share the same wear as well. Ryan shrugged and turned away, looking at the boy smoothing out his shirt harshly.

“I had it handled.” He repeated. “I just don’t like to punch first.  It’s _not_ a good quality.”

“Good strategy; they’ll never hurt you that way.” Ryan scoffed. His life followed the exact opposite approach; punch first, run first, leave first or you’d live your whole life dodging, chasing, and patching up wounds. “You’re welcome, alright?”

“I’m not going to say thank you.”

“Jesus, don’t be such a man about it.” Ryan turned away from him and went for the door. As he left, another set of quick, heavy footsteps followed him.

“Don’t be such an asshole. You didn’t do me any favors, _Ross_.” The boy had attempted to spit the name at Ryan as an insult, but Ryan heard no difference in how he heard it at home.

“You should really start valuing your life a little more.” Ryan noted with faux worry. The boy huffed loudly as he pushed past him to hold the locker room door shut.

“Look, I had it handled. I didn’t need you to save me with all your cynical banter, alright?” His eyes were still just as wide as when Ryan first saw them, staring at Ryan all at once, exposing every part of him. Ryan squirmed under the stare. “How about you stop being a complete _asshole_ and acting like you did me some heroic favor?”

“Fine. I’ll just be the asshole that saved your ass.” Ryan muttered, hoping the boy would look away sooner.

“I could just—” The boy pointed at Ryan with a still-quaking hand, his knuckles purpling. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.”

The boy lifted his hand and turned away with a huff, releasing Ryan and letting him walk away. Without so much as another look, they began to walk back towards the stands, neither acting like there was another person an arms-length away. Ryan was pleased with the boy’s self-made goodbye. Gone before they even learned each other’s names.

Brendon turned and left, stomping towards the wrap-around to the visiting team’s side, while Ryan began to veer right. The cigarette was still there, Ryan stepping on it one more time for good measure. The paper broke and nicotine spilled onto the sidewalk; every secret about it was being smeared across the sidewalk as Ryan stepped.

“Brendon! There you are!” Ryan tried not to look as he paused at the fence, kicking the tobacco leaves mindlessly. He wondered who could eagerly be looking for _that_ kid. “Where were you?”

“I was just in the bathroom, Dallon, relax.” Brendon’s tone was softer but still had a serrated edge, roughing the conversation up. “I’m okay.”

“Just come on. Everyone’s looking for you.” The boy— _Dallon_ , as Ryan assumed—towered over Brendon as he spoke _at_ him, but Brendon didn’t seem to waver. He stared up at him, chin lifted, as if he was doing Dallon a great service by greeting him with those wide, sharp eyes. He must have been looking at all of him at once too. Dallon grabbed Brendon by the arm and tugged him away, Brendon trailing slowly, never breaking a walking pace.

The stranger left quickly, Dallon’s stride taking both of them to the edge of the stands before Ryan could even think about having the last word—Brendon had an awful way of handling confrontation. Honestly, Ryan wasn’t missing anything attending Palo Verde instead of that academy. He didn’t think he could stand the environment. Or those eyes.

“Ryan!” For a moment, Ryan looked up from his shoes and searched off to his left. But there was no one looking his way—or anyone that knew his real name. Ryan turned again to see Gabe walking towards him. “Where’d you go, man? I turn around for three seconds and suddenly you disappear? I almost told Pete something _very_ embarrassing.”

“Dude, you were pantsed my freshman year during dodgeball. Do you think we have any _more_ second-hand embarrassment left for you?”

“I wasn’t ashamed of that.” Gabe digressed, looking confused. “You must not have gotten a good look.”

“Not the point.” Ryan laughed, kicking his shoe against the sidewalk again. “I’ll be back in a second. Just, got caught up helping some bible-thumper from the other school. I’m good. Didn’t know how to tell a guy to fuck off.”

“It’s not a skill we all possess.” Gabe muttered, looking at his watch. “I’m going to quick go see Patrick and then I should be back up there. Trying to waste some time before Spencer’s show. Catch you in a bit.” He waved as he took off, leaving Ryan to make the trek back to the stands alone. He left the cigarette on the sidewalk and made sure no one followed him on the way back.

When he started up the stairs, William was on his feet, intently watching the game, while Pete was sitting indifferently beside him, hand resting on the bench. Pete saw Ryan half way up the stairs and lifted his hand, pointing where he had been before; saved as promised. Ryan sat down slowly, his hands resting on his knees and drumming against them. Pete didn’t look away from the field, although his gaze wasn’t fixed or restrained.

“Thanks.” Ryan mumbled.

“What for?” He looked at Ryan, hurt wiped from his face.

“The seat.” Ryan motioned. Pete nodded shortly and went back to the game. There were no more sentences to complete. Ryan was going to keep everything tucked neatly inside, no ripped paper, no spilled tobacco— but he was going to at least going to let Pete light the match. Let him smile.

* * *

“Spencer, that was incredible!” Ryan was tackling Spencer outside the band room, nearly knocking his hat off. “You were amazing!”

“I had no doubt you were talented, but I’m still speechless, Spencer.” William adding, breaking his studying practice in order to properly compliment Spencer. “That was great.”

“Thanks, guys.” Spencer was noticeably embarrassed, the five of them being the only non-band members around, but didn’t discourage their praise. “It really means a lot you’re here.”

“It’s not like we had better things to do tonight.” Pete said, shrugging.

“Don’t listen to him, Spencer. We were all _happy_ to be here.” Patrick interrupted, shoving Pete and squeezing in beside Spencer. “It was great.”

“Are you guys sticking around for third quarter?” Spencer asked, unhooking the collar of his uniform. Pete and Patrick conferred with silent looks before nodding.

“I have to drive William home.” Gabe replied, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

“The cheerleaders perform.” Spencer added, winking.

“Well, in that case—” Gabe muttered, slipping his arm off of William’s shoulders. William rolled his eyes and laughed at Gabe’s fake attempts to slip away from the group.

“How about you, Ry?”

“Can’t.” Ryan said, knowing he would be supplying answers for more than one person’s questions. “Gabe’s my ride home.”

Spencer’s face recoiled, although he laughed. “Oh. You sure you want to witness that?”

“I’ll be fine.” Ryan said. “Dad’s working late and I want to be home before him.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you guys on Monday.” Spencer said, reaching out to hug or touch each one as they went their separate ways. “Drive safe!” Ryan knew it was Spencer’s more ambiguous means of affection. It wouldn’t embarrass them in such a crowded setting by outright saying that he loved all of them, but Ryan knew the sentiment’s tone when he heard it.

“Love you too, Spencer!” Ryan called, waving back to the single hand raised in a sea of feathers and asymmetrical uniform jackets.

Ryan pretended not to notice how Pete loitered behind him, walking side by side with Patrick. He pretended there was a smile on his face. He was smiling before he lit the match. Gabe stood between Ryan and William, their hands interlocked and swinging slowly. Ryan stared at their two hands curiously, at how the simplest gesture could say so much.

Ryan remembered the first time they held hands in high school. It was actually the first time Ryan met them. Gabe had been walking down the hallway towards Ryan, an obvious freshman without any direction or clue where he was going. He stopped and asked Ryan what classroom he was looking for, a cocky sophomore with no books in his hands. Ryan felt stupid but he told Gabe where he was looking to go, and Gabe said he was on his way there anyway and to just follow him. Ryan was afraid he was just pulling him around, but sure enough, Ryan found his classroom, as well as a lanky boy waiting outside of it, armful of neatly stacked books. They kissed instead of a verbal greeting, Gabe taking half of William’s books and his hand in one quick motion. They introduced each other, making _no_ introduction for the clarifications they made about themselves in a flash. Ryan saw how many eyes looked at them then, and knew that they didn’t care. Even then, walking through crowds of people to the school parking lot, they didn’t seem to give any notice to the shared heart they had plastered on their sleeves.

“I have another hand if you want to join, Ryan?” Gabe laughed, waving his free hand in front of Ryan’s face, breaking his stare. “We’ve got more than enough love to go around.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Ryan laughed, trying to step out of Gabe’s reach. He got his hand anyway, pulling Ryan into his side.

“Come on, don’t be shy, Ryan.” Gabe released his hand to place a loose arm around his shoulders. “We’re all friends.”

“I don’t think I’m the same type of friend to you as Will is.” Ryan noted. “I don’t think I want to be.”

“Did you just expect me to drive you home for free?” Gabe asked, pretending to be shocked. He raised an eyebrow as he turned to stare at Ryan. Ryan could see a smile tug on the edge of his lips as they crossed under a streetlamp.

“Oh, come on, Gabe.” William laughed, wrapping his other hand around Gabe’s bicep. “Can’t just take a poor boy’s _virginity_ just like _that_.” Ryan laughed with as much sincerity as he could at the way William lowered his voice at the mention of his inexperience. Ryan’s blush coming less from naïve embarrassment, but more from the truth that he was hiding one of his biggest secrets from his closest friends. And that another close friend was the one to point the finger at when all was said and done.

“Why not? Done it before.”

“So have I.” William said, matching Gabe’s smug expression. “Keep your tone down.”

“Are you two going to be doing this the _whole_ time?” Ryan sighed, leaning forward to better direct his deadpan at William. “Because I’ll walk home.”

“Sorry. We’ll stop.” William assured Ryan. “First night without studying in a while.”

“’A while’ is a relative term.” Gabe muttered to Ryan as he dropped both of them to fish the keys out of his pocket. “To some it’s about three weeks, other’s it can seem to be _years_.”

“I don’t envy you.” Ryan said quietly, clapping him on the shoulder. “I can’t miss what I never had.” Ryan wasn’t sure if he was lying about the sex or the relationship.

Gabe muttered quietly as he rounded the car to the driver’s side. Ryan didn’t think it would’ve mattered if he could hear Gabe, he didn’t think he would be able to understand it anyway—and he didn’t think William would want to translate. Ryan climbed into the seat behind William, kicking a pair of sneakers over to the other seat. William was already in his seat and digging through the glovebox for a CD to put in the stereo as Gabe got in. William held three crystal cases up to Gabe, Ryan craning his neck to see the titles but missing the one Gabe pointed at. They exchanged no words, their routines fitting together and overlapping in just the perfect way, their hands both reaching for the other’s at the same moment. It was kind of sickening, the more Ryan saw it.

The music they picked was something Ryan didn’t recognize, but could enjoy at the quiet volume it was playing. Both William and Gabe were still talking; Ryan began to think the music was for his benefit only. They were discussing weekend plans, William’s exam, and Gabe running into Brian Carter—to which Ryan pretended to be just as shocked at the reappearance of the previously unidentifiable jock from third period PE. Ryan listened to them, but never contributed, not sure how much he should interrupt their time together.

He never knew how relationships really _worked_ —God knows he had never seen one function correctly. One only had a single living member and others were just more strangers on the TV. Ryan just sat quietly, observing the way silence was a conversation they exchanged comfortably, handing it to each other without fumbling. Whenever it was too quiet with Pete, Ryan felt compelled to speak, to say _something_ to fill the silence. His brain would run wild with all the things he could possible say, could _reveal_ , and it terrified him. Ryan didn’t want the temptation around him for another moment. He always toyed with the idea of putting a cigarette between his quivering lips.

Gabe dropped William off first, much to Ryan’s surprise—he was sure they would ditch Ryan and use the evening hours to their advantage. Gabe pulled up along the curb outside of William’s picturesque home, his last name painted elegantly along the mailbox outside Ryan’s window. Ryan pretended to be far more interested in the music as they turned to each other to say good-bye.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” William promised quietly, trying to stay below the music. “Thank you for the break tonight.”

“Any time.” Gabe tried to sound casual, but nothing could hide the airy quality to his voice. “Love you.”

“I love you.” After a while, they didn’t speak and Ryan assumed they were finished, but Ryan found that they were using their mouths for other conversation tactics. He looked back out his window at the front of the house, the first floor illuminating as lights went on. “They waited for me. I should probably go in.” William said hurriedly, pulling away from Gabe. “Love you—you too, Ry. See you, Monday.” He attempted to wave to Ryan as he got out of the car, but was pulled back in by Gabe, kissing him again. “Gabe, I _have_ to go inside. I’ll call you, okay? Later tonight.” Gabe released his shirt and William left without another word, running across his even, green lawn to the front door. They watched him walk in the house, a tall woman waiting in the doorframe and waving down to them. Gabe waved back before pulling away.

Ryan wondered if goodbyes were always that awkward and rushed. It seemed like an uneven end to the balancing act he just witnessed. “Hey, Gabe?” Ryan was curious enough to ask.

“Yeah, Ry?” Gabe said, turning the music off.

“Why haven’t you told your or Will’s parents about you two?” Ryan was curious the motives for such open people to keep something so close to their chests. Telling complete strangers was something they did without a second thought, without any words at all, but telling their own parents was a foreign concept. Ryan couldn’t comprehend the separation—to him, they were all the same at that point.

“Never got around to it.” Gabe shrugged. “I mean, it’s been six years.”

“Exactly, it’s been _six years_.” Ryan echoed. Although in double that time, all of Ryan’s secrets had finally been coughed up only to be kicked out of the house—and buried in a grave halfway across the state of Nevada.

“Well, we started dating when we were in, what—In _middle school_? Will’s parents didn’t even know he was gay. Now bring in a tall, Jewish, Uruguayan guy and tell them _that’s_ his boyfriend.” Gabe laughed, looking at Ryan in the rearview mirror. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Will’s parents love me, but I think mostly because I’ve been William’s longest friend.”

“So, you’re just going to keep it to yourself?”

“Probably.” Gabe shrugged again. Ryan was pleased with someone else being more than functional with their secrets well kept. “I mean, they’ll figure it out eventually. I’m probably going to marry him.”

“Really?” Ryan didn’t know why it surprised him so much. Gabe was nearly twenty years old, looking to go to college on the other side of the country, and planning the rest of his life. Of course William was included in it. “You’ve already decided that?”

“I don’t plan on leaving him.” Gabe laughed, glancing over his shoulder at Ryan. “We’ve been through everything together. He’s _it_ for me.” It. The complementary pinnacle of his life. Gabe would never leave William. They’re going to get married. They were so sure. There was no risk for abandonment. Gabe was already committed to committing. They never had to worry about ending up alone suddenly, earth shattered and shards cutting deep.

“That’s… That’s great, Gabe.” Ryan reached forward and touched his shoulder. “Good for you two.” He didn’t intend his voice to dip into the pool of envy growing in his stomach.

“You’ll find… _someone_ , Ryan.” Gabe avoided the word sharply, trying to sound supportive even though he wasn’t sure what he was supporting. Gabe was pulling up to Ryan’s house, doing so agonizingly slow; another sentence hanging on his lips. “Hey, man, can I ask you something?”

“What.” Ryan sat back in his seat, looking at Gabe nervously as he turned around to look at him.

“I don’t mean to be forward or anything but—”

“You and your future fiancé commented on my virginity about a half hour ago.” Ryan deadpanned. “We’re there.”

“Right.” Gabe sighed, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to say…. Well—God how do I say this, uh, well, you know Will’s _gay—_ ”

“Where is this going?” Ryan interrupted, already feeling his palms stick to the leather seats as he began to sweat.

“Hold on.” Gabe held a hand up to Ryan before reaching up to turn on the light on the roof. Ryan’s expression was more noticeable in the yellowing light. “So, Spencer and Pat are both, you know, strictly heterosexuals. And Pete’s only into girls too,” Ryan had pretty damning evidence against that, but Gabe didn’t need to hear it. “and then you have Will who’s always known he’s only been _gay_. But then, you have me. You know, I’m comfortably bi, man. So like, if you feel like you’ve got no one to talk to about _that_ kinda stuff, I’m totally here, Ryan.” Oh. So _that’s_ where this was going. Gabe’s pulling on the string to unravel Ryan from the closet. Ryan wasn’t scared of it, he told Spencer without a second thought, and Pete figured it out on his own, but Ryan didn’t know what being _out_ meant. He didn’t know what it would be like to have that secret on display no matter where he went and who he met.

“Uh, thanks.” Ryan muttered. “I’m okay though.”

“Oh.” Gabe seemed disappointed. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Just trying to watch out for you, man. I know Will and I are disgusting and Pete’s always trying to stare down Miss Hannigan’s blouse, but whoever you date is going to be cool with us. Doesn’t matter if it’s different each time. We understand.”

“Okay.” Ryan answered benignly. “I’m going to get out of the car now. Is there anything else?”

“No. That’s it.” Gabe sighed, turning back to the steering wheel. “Take care and I’ll see you Monday, Ryan.” He waved to Ryan as he stepped into his embarrassingly uneven lawn. Ryan pretended to be waving to Gabe, making sure he got out of the neighborhood okay, instead of stalling before going to his own front door.

The front door was unlocked, Ryan slipping into the house quietly. The lights were off everywhere but the dining room. It was the room closest to the stairs, but Ryan was nearly positive that _wasn’t_ the reason it was on.

“Ryan?” His father sounded pleasantly surprised. “Is that you?”

“Hey, Dad. I’m home!” Ryan answered, dropping his backpack on the couch as he edged towards the dining room.

“Home?” The word slipped against his father’s tongue. “Weren’t you upstairs?”

“No, I was out all night. Football game.” Ryan replied, stopping in the archway and looking at his father and the empty bottles serving as his dinner guests.

“Football game?” His father echoed. “Have any fun?”

“Loads.” Ryan nodded, slipping his hands into his pocket. “Hung out with all the guys.”

“How are they?” His father asked, taking a sip from the bottle in his hand. His father was asking, but if Ryan asked, he couldn’t name a single one of “the guys”.

“They’re good.”

“How’s your girlfriend?” He asked, raising his bottle to the question.

“She’s good.” Ryan replied quickly. Her wellbeing didn’t change much. She was always moderately well at all times; just how Ryan imagined her to be.

“Great!” His father was delighted by the response, leaning back in his chair and tilting the bottle back further. Ryan wasn’t sure how to explain that it was empty and his last one. He preferred a quick exit instead.

“I’m going to go to bed, Dad. I’m really tired.” Ryan said, already pulling away from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait.” His father shouted, his words still half constructed and surprisingly both men in the room. “I should ground you for being home so late.”

“Dad, you’re drunk. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?” Ryan sighed, knowing that he was talking sense to a man a sip away from unconsciousness. “I’m not really in the mood for—”

“Shut _up_!” His father slammed his bottle on the table and shattered it, Ryan jumping back but trying not to look afraid. “Don’t tell me what to do, _Danielle_. Just get out!”

“Good night, Dad.” Ryan muttered, taking off for the stairs, feeling his way along the wall until he reached his door. Every light was out and Ryan knew switching them on would only aggravate his father and his impending hangover. Ryan waited until his bedroom door was closed and locked before turning on his lights.

His room had originally meant to be a closet, Ryan was sure; God had made sure to make him nearly six feet tall and gay by all means of the word. His bed was tucked in the corner, the roof reaching its lowest point over his pillow, making nightmares a dangerous habit. His desk was in the crashing radius of his door, Ryan always careful to never open it too urgently or else bang his desk chair and making a ruckus. The room was about five of Ryan’s average paces across; just enough for a growing teenage boy.

Ryan kicked off his shoes and sank onto his bed, craning his neck back to look through the skylight over his bed. The window had been bolted shut when he was eleven, at the advice of Ryan’s therapists. The night had been crystal clear before, but Ryan couldn’t find a single star in the sky. All of them must have been hanging over the football field that night.

Spencer was probably getting to the end of the third quarter by now, his wrists sore from the endless drumrolls and cheer beats. Typically, Ryan stayed for the full game and helped Spencer pack up all his things, but that night held surprises for everyone. He reached into his back pocket for his phone, but couldn’t find it. It was sitting in Ryan’s backpack in the living room downstairs. He’d have to wait until morning to text Spencer; Ryan was locked into his room, a non-verbal agreement between him and who was ever in the house that he wasn’t to be disturbed, and that he wouldn’t disturb the house.

Ryan laid on his back, the skylight losing its view as he leaned back. From his pillow, Ryan only had the view of his door, desk, and the wall to his left. Ryan used to have posters, but as his interest changed over from having his favorite band’s logos to pictures of the lead singer shirtless, he knew it was for the best he left his walls blank. It was his room, but that didn’t mean it was his space; it was still his father’s house, but this was the area he was allowed to sleep in. Even when Ryan got old enough to pick the color of his room, his father only asked what shade of blue he wanted. Ryan had wanted yellow, his favorite color at the time, but was reduced to Robin’s egg, navy, or sky blue. Boring navy walls for the past twelve years and Ryan couldn’t even put up posters to cover them.

Downstairs, Ryan could hear his father stumbling around, shouting his name. Ryan didn’t answer and instead reached over and turned off the lights, the small streak of light lining the bottom of his door disappearing in the hallway. By all means he was gone. Only able to be available and private at his own choice. Ryan and his father shared DNA, but somehow Ryan’s life was something they didn’t. It was all settled in Ryan’s borrowed four walls and those surrounding his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed chapter one! Please comment and let me know what you thought!  
> I've been working on this fic for a bit and am so happy to finally start posting it!  
> Find me on tumblr @breakfastbeebo


	2. Ghosted Injuries

Ryan wasn’t sure what woke him Saturday morning. It could have been the gentle satiety of sleeping a full eight hours. Or it could have been the irritating ringing of the doorbell downstairs. Chances were his father was out cold and wouldn’t be vertical until at least Monday afternoon, so it was Ryan’s responsibility to answer the door.

Still in his jeans from the night before, having fallen asleep before he could properly change or get comfortable, Ryan stood from his bed and crossed his room to the door. He unlocked and opened it slowly, peering out into the hallway, listening to the familiar snore of his father lying passed on his bedroom floor. It was nearly impossible with the doorbell, but Ryan seemed to locate the sound in the timed silence.

“I’m _coming_! Jesus fucking Christ would you just—” Ryan cried taking the stairs as quickly as he could, careful to avoid the glass shards left on the floor from the night before. “Stop fucking ringing the _damn bell_!” Ryan cried, reaching for the door. “ _What._ ” Ryan was questioning not only the boys on his front porch, but his vision as well.

“Good morning. We’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- Day Saints.” It was Dallon, standing on his porch, book in hand and smile forced on his face. The world was trying to get Ryan into more trouble than he was honestly worth. “I’m Elder Weekes, and this is my brother, Brendon.” Of course it was.

Dallon stepped to the side to reveal Brendon, but his eyes were focused on the book in his hands. Brendon was dressed smartly, his tie evenly sitting between the creases of his collar and hanging over his chest perfectly. He looked small in his pressed shirt a size too big for him. His hair hung down over his face as he looked at the Bible, his bruised hands gripping the sides.

“Do you have a moment to spare to discuss Jesus Christ?” Dallon asked cheerfully.

“A moment? No. Sorry. I have a pretty full day of being an atheist ahead of me.” Ryan replied shortly, already gripping the door to close it. “Sorry.” Brendon’s head snapped up as Ryan spoke, startled by the sudden familiarity.

“ _You_?” Brendon spat, staring at Ryan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“ _Brendon_.” Dallon gasped, turning to stare at him with a sharp glare. “Don’t speak out of turn—I’m sorry.” Dallon said to Ryan, softening this look, but giving Ryan residual anger. “Brendon isn’t yet an elder. Still learning.”

“Ahh, troubled youths, huh?” Ryan sighed.

“Elder doesn’t mean _old_ , it just means I haven’t been on my mission yet.” Brendon said with narrowed eyes. “I’m not _that_ young.” Brendon didn’t sound offended; he sounded threatening. He was on par with Ryan in some way. Brendon was trying to level the playing field—but what for, Ryan was struggling to decode as Dallon continued talking, Brendon keeping his eyes stably pinned on Ryan’s.

“Yes, missions! I have been on one. Would you like to know what we do to spread the word of God—”

“Not really.” Ryan said, clearing his throat. “I’m pretty clear on the commandments: thall shalt not kill, thall shalt not covet they neighbor’s wife, thall shalt not punch first—all the basics.” Ryan smiled in a way that allowed Dallon to be horrendously confused, but Brendon to begin muttering words that would surely burn Dallon’s ears. “Do have a blessed day, though.”

“Shove it, Ross.” Brendon mumbled, already beginning to turn away from Ryan. “You’re not fooling anyone.” Dallon didn’t hear Brendon’s last words and pushed him along, ushering him off the porch. Ryan stood in the doorway, staring after Brendon. Ryan couldn’t think for the life of him what Brendon had meant. For once, someone knew something about Ryan that he, himself, didn’t. It made something in Ryan’s stomach settle into a place between his knees and his toes.

Brendon and Dallon were already on the sidewalk and on their way to the next house as Ryan shut the door. Brendon cast a quick glance over his shoulder to Ryan before he disappeared in the closing gap between the door and its frame. Ryan had barely been awake long enough to clock his own mood or physical needs, but he somehow already felt uneasy. Between Gabe’s uncomfortably paternal outreach and now Brendon’s narrowed eyes and smug answer, Ryan wanted to be alone and unobserved for the rest of the day. But of course, he had a father, or more realistically a hangover human, to nurse back to health. But his father barely noticed him anyway. Neither really noticed the other.

“Dad?” Ryan called up the stairs. “Dad, you have to wake up. You have work later.” Ryan assumed his father still had a job. He left the house on a routine schedule, whether or not where he went was actually a place of work wasn’t something Ryan could prove with any sort of evidence. They still had a house and food in the refrigerator so Ryan assumed they had an income of some capacity.

Silence answered Ryan as he made his way down to the bedroom his parents used to share, decorated with photos and frames, now only hosting a bed where his father slept abnormal hours. Bottles were the main decoration and the smell of nicotine overwhelmed Ryan as he walked in. As expected, there was a slowly moving lump under the covers of the bed, his father stirring from Ryan’s interruptions.

“Dad, you have to get up.” Ryan insisted. “You have to sober up.”

“Mmmmhm.” A sound meant he wasn’t dead.

“ _Dad_!”

“What are you yelling about now, Cynthia?” He muttered, pulling an arm up and over his face to try and block Ryan out of both his ears and eyes.

Ryan didn’t know anyone named Cynthia. He didn’t have an estranged aunt, cousin, grandmother, or neighbor by that name. Ryan didn’t know her, but she—whoever and whatever she was—sure seemed to know his father well enough to have him assume her presence instead of his own son. Last week it was Tabatha.

Ryan knew his dad would date after he got divorced. The idea just rarely presented itself up close. It was always a hypothetical idea, Ryan’s father was _not_ hot, young, dating material; raising just _one_ kid aged him as much as three. But, at least his dad had someone he could _be_ with, someone that he went to, leaving Ryan to his own devices. Cynthia might have been a young twenty-year-old sleeping with his father, but to Ryan, it was a farthest thing from a new motherly figure in his life, and it was _perfect_.

“Not Cynthia.” Ryan said, clapping his back. “Wake up, Dad. You sleep any longer and you won’t wake up.” A few more months and Ryan would hopefully be in college, _then_ he could sleep forever.

“Fuck off, Ryan.” He said finally, peering out from under his arm. “Leave your father alone. You might be eighteen but you’re under my roof. Leave me alone.” Sometimes, Ryan wondered who was the petulant teenager in the house. Ryan wished he could live with his mother, even if it that meant becoming a permanent cemetery resident.

Ryan left his father alone, shutting the door behind him and going back downstairs for his backpack. His phone was undoubtedly flashing with the text messages from Spencer, catching him up on the rest of his night as first snare. It would be Ryan’s light reading while he ate his typical bowl of stale cereal—the cabinets and fridge might have been full of food, but that didn’t mean it had to be fresh.

The first text message read: _you missed a great cheerleading third-quarter performance!_ Ryan highly doubted it, knowing that the performances were never something that entertained him, but he let his eyes fall to the next gray bubble of text: _omg they dropped that girl from your health class_. Ryan couldn’t think of her name, but knew that he had no reason to be delighted of her accident; she was kind to him. Spencer remembered more about her than Ryan had apparently, continuing the stream of texts with timestamps far closer together:

_This is so crazy_

_Half the low brass is carrying her off the track_

_I think her name is Vanessa or something? I’m trying to remember._

_I know you don’t._

_She totally broke her leg._

_It’s kind of fucking gross actually. Be glad you left._

_She’s not crying though, I don’t think. She just looks mad._

_Vanessa doesn’t fuck around apparently… damn._

_Ambulance came. Her name’s Vicky—Pete knows her I think?_

Ryan read the continuous line as he sat down at the dining table, avoiding more glass as he went. Ryan scrolled down further to the last few of Spencer’s messages: _speaking of which, why was Pete at the game after you? What were you thinking?? You left him hanging._

He didn’t dignify any of Spencer’s questions or comments and put his phone in his pocket. Spencer knew, but had this noticeable habit of playing dumb, hoping Ryan will divulge more information. Spencer had been doing it for the past twelve years, and Ryan had been deflecting the tactic just as long. They’d see each other at some point that afternoon; Ryan wouldn’t answer any texts that would invite those the same questions.

The bowl seemed to empty a lot faster than Ryan anticipated, his stomach still feeling empty. He stood to return to the kitchen, mind still on the text messages which his attention from the floor. The glass shards pricked the bottom of Ryan’s feet menacingly, the long, jagged piece from the bottle’s neck breaking skin in the arch of Ryan’s foot. _Great_. Now he’d have to clean up glass _and_ blood.

Ryan unrolled the thinning roll of paper towels on the counter as he sat on the linoleum floor, trying to keep the blood on an easy to clean surface; the beige carpet already had burn marks and ashes, it didn’t need blood trails. He rolled the towels around his foot, watching the geometric designs meant to absorb water become overwhelmed with the ribbon of blood running down his foot. It hadn’t been the first time.

There was a now-white scar running across Ryan’s back. Ryan could never see it in a mirror, but if he reached far enough, he could run his fingers over it, feeling the raised gap where his skin tried to reconnect. He had fallen through the sliding glass door years ago— pushed, really. A comment at the dinner table became a shouting match and soon enough, Ryan and his father were screaming in each other’s faces, complexions turning red and voices growing hoarse. Ryan said he’d rather be living with his mother, Ryan’s father declining the idea that she was fit to raise any children. Ryan’s fatal mistake was insisting that he wasn’t either; he was eleven and stupid. Ryan went to leave the house, make a break for Spencer’s when his father grabbed his arm, attempting to yank him back into their conversation. He turned on his heel, wiggling wildly to free himself from the grip, but only losing his balance. He was already unsteady when his father released him, telling him to go live with his mother if that’s what he wanted. Ryan woke up the next day in a hospital and thirty stitches in his back.

The scar felt ugly to Ryan. His fingers could barely follow its edges; they changed sharply and left uneven ridges. Ryan imagined it looked terrifying and gory. He remembered the first time a hand other than his own grazed over it, the hand lifting immediately and requesting to see it with their own eyes. The concern on Pete’s face was enough to make Ryan grab his shirt and leave. He didn’t come back. It was August by then; things were ready to end.

The blood finally clotted and he was able to stand without leaving tracks on the floor. Ryan crept up the stairs again, carefully balancing on the tips of his toes, both to avoid blood stains as well as any creaking floorboards. He didn’t want to wake his father yet again; one scolding was enough for the morning. Luckily, the bathroom was just at the top of the stairs, the door already propped open with no need to make any extra noise.

The bathroom was horrifically pink. It was the color of what Ryan could only assume to be petunias, blush, and the color girls in 70s movies could describe true love felt like all mashed together. Needless to say, his mother had decorated the bathroom about twenty years ago, and they just never got around to changing it. There was another bathroom downstairs and Ryan petitioned the pink one to be his once his mother moved out. It was really the last thing his mother left in the house, it felt wrong to wipe clean and replace with heartless white.

The door closed silently, although the mirror opened with slightly less subtlety. It squeaked shortly just as the hinge stopped at ninety degrees. The gauze sat on the last shelf, only having a few more rolls around it. It’d be a dead solider after Ryan finished fixing up his newest future-scar. He’d have to buy more the next time he found a few dollars in the wash or fluttering around, lost in the parking lot.

It wrapped around three times before Ryan had to use every fatigued brain cell to optimize what was left while still having enough to tie it off neatly. Wearing shoes would become ungodly uncomfortable, but Ryan just continued with the hope that for the next two days, he didn’t have to be wearing them. The empty paper tube joined the splotched paper towels in the trashcan. The red clashed against the soft pink surrounding it, but no one other than Ryan ever went into the bathroom to see the unsettling contrast. He’d take the trash out Sunday night and no one would know better.

The mirror squeaked less as Ryan pushed it back over. His reflection settled straight as the door clicked into place. He needed a haircut, maybe—William’s hair was still longer, so it wasn’t _that_ bad. He expected to look a whole lot worse, but surprisingly rolling out of bed, he looked half-decent. Too bad he didn’t appear more strung-out when he answered the front door to two polite Mormons. The mirror definitely needed to be cleaned, but Ryan was sure it wasn’t skewing his reflection. He knew what it was trying to hide and saw it magnified a thousand times. Maybe Ryan was the only one who noticed the easy quiver of his bottom lip, the rapid blinking of his eyes if people moved too quickly, the flinch when something touched between his shoulders, and the humming of uneasiness that was marrow deep. Maybe only Ryan saw it.

But as the mirror told Ryan, foggy and belabored, he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Ryan slammed the bathroom door behind him, retiring to his room to preoccupy himself with homework. His phone was vibrating again in his pocket, but he could barely notice it once he tossed it on his bed, the buzzing silenced in the sheets. It was Spencer, no doubt, but Ryan felt on the verge of saying too much. He wanted a cigarette, just to press his lips around, make him look calm and collected and silent.

* * *

Pete’s dad smoked too. Sometimes when Ryan got in the car on Mondays—after a weekend of being in his father’s garage—it would smell strongly of tobacco and the nicotine would practically line Ryan’s palms as he slid in the passenger seat. That Monday was no different.

As predicted, Ryan’s father was still mildly hungover and grumbling in bed while Ryan waited out on the front porch for Pete’s Echo to roll up to the curb. Ryan rolled his ankle as he sat, trying to readjust his shoe and make the pressure from the gauze-wrap disappear. Pete pulled up as Ryan was pressing his foot against the leg of his chair, his ankle cracking and growing stiff. He pretended he was simply getting out of the chair and went completely unnoticed. Pete was too busy fixing his rearview mirror, too busy trying _not_ to look at Ryan.

“Hey.” Ryan said, climbing in the passenger seat. His skin reluctantly peeled away from the browning door handle.

“Hey.” Pete’s response was immediate, wanting to greet him but not wanting to speak first. “Good weekend?”

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded, his sentences struggling to fall short. He had very little to report from his weekend. Plenty happened, but nothing he wanted to share. “Uh, Spencer told me about the game. Is your friend okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Pete said, pulling away from Ryan’s house. “Clean break so she’s going to be fine.”

“That’s good.” Ryan muttered. “I mean—it’s not good that she broke her leg, but it’s good that she broke her leg in the least horrendous way. Well, I would assume, I’ve never really—”

“Are you okay?” Pete asked. He was attempting to peer at Ryan from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah. Of course I am. Why?”

“You typically don’t talk this much in the morning.” Pete had enough confidence, not only as Ryan’s personal carpool for the past year, but also as the only person to ever be beside Ryan when he woke up. Ryan regrettably had noticeable behaviors, and he constantly forgot he had friends that paid attention to them. And he had an ex (of some degree) who wanted to know why at all times.

“Just… _excited_. That’s all.” Ryan’s fib was sloppy at best, but Pete bought it—or more so accepted the redirection. “Another week closer to Christmas break, ya know?”

“It’s October.”

“Another day closer to Halloween then.”

“As much as I _know_ the answer to this question, are you going out this year for Halloween?” Gabe hosted a party last year that Ryan avoided with a fake book report and feigned illness. This year, he assumed he would be less fortunate.

“Probably not.” Ryan replied. “Depends on how I feel.”

“We had a really good time last year!” Pete insisted. “Everyone was happy and just a _little_ bit drunk. I think you’d have a great time, Ry.” The thought of consuming alcohol never settled well with Ryan. Sure, he joked about it with his friends, but when it came down to it, every night when half-filled bottles were left on countertops and dining tables, Ryan did nothing but pour it down the drain. None of his friends knew about his father’s drinking problem, and as long as Ryan skillfully avoided social drinking situations, they never would.

“I’ll think about it.” Ryan echoed, although the holiday was closing in on him far too quickly.

“Thank you.” Pete spoke softly, and Ryan was afraid he had just committed to a favor.

The knot rubbed against the top of Ryan’s foot as his leg bounced against the floor. His knee rattled the glove compartment door, announcing his nervousness without ever opening his mouth. Pete turned on music and pretended not to hear it, giving Ryan his own fake sense of security. Pete played the boyfriend role too well. It made Ryan’s skin crawl.

Ryan opened a window as they approach the school—just in case he needed to jump out. The wind blew past Ryan’s ears and blocked out the small talk Pete was attempting, trying to cover up his concentration needed to park. He smiled and nodded, clueless and blissfully unaware. Ryan could already see Patrick walking towards the school and Gabe’s car parked a few spots away.

“Pat!” Ryan waved his arm out the window, getting his attention as Pete tried to straighten the car out in the spot. “Wait up!” He was hoping he didn’t sound too eager for other company.

“I’ve got a meeting with a professor this morning, I’ll catch you guys later!” Patrick waved to Pete and Ryan before continuing through the parking lot.

“For someone who does so well in school, he sure meets with the teachers a lot.” Ryan said, rolling his eyes.

“And calls them professor.” Pete added with a chuckle. “Unbelievable.” Pete had parked finally, leaning on the steering wheel to watch Patrick power walk to the school. “How are we friends again?”

“Who? You and Pat? Or the two of us?” Ryan laughed for the first time since Friday, the smile surprising him and falling for a moment as he got out of the car.

“You know why we’re friends.” Pete said before Ryan closed the car door. Pete’s voice came out through the other open door soon after.

“Because we get along?” Ryan could play coy. Pete had a match in his hand and the cigarette still wasn’t lit.

“Because I caught you accidentally staring at me at Patrick’s birthday party last year.”

“Oh, right. _That_.” Ryan’s laughter began to sputter, his backpack straps suddenly not sitting right. He adjusted them repeatedly although nothing really changed.

“But, we’re friends now because… well, because _yes_ , we get along.” Pete added, walking to the front of the car. Ryan dropped his hands as Pete waved him over, trying to get the smile back on his face. “Even though you’re a complete shithead.”

“Thanks.” Ryan muttered. Pete placed his arm around Ryan’s shoulders—best he could—and Ryan’s hands returned to the straps of his bag, his thumbs hooking around them loosely.

Gabe’s car was closer to the school than Pete’s, the two of them approaching it slowly, unsure why they saw no one standing outside of it. Ryan craned his neck to see inside, spotting both expected bodies sitting in the front seats. Gabe seemed to be heavy in conversation, but it definitely wasn’t with William—he was facing straight ahead, hands folded in his lap.

“Isn’t today that big Spanish exam for Will?” Ryan asked, keeping his eyes on the car.

“Yeah, one of the first periods today I think.” Pete said. “Why?”

“How much positivity do you have ready to bullshit today?” Ryan whispered, Gabe’s door opening as they approached. “I have a feeling we’re going to need to lay it on thick—”

“Hey guys!” Gabe closed his door and waved at them to come up closer. Pete’s arm slipped away as they stepped up to the hood of the car. “Don’t be dicks today, alright?”

“Who said we were going to—”

“Just, _don’t_ or so help me God, I will rip both your throats out and double knot it to my bumper. Do I make myself— _William!_ ” Gabe’s stoic glare turned into a bright smile as William opened the car door and got out.

He looked terrible, if Ryan was going to be honest (only to himself, of course. He heard Gabe). William’s hair was covered by a half-folded bandana tied under at the nape of his neck, the top corner falling over his matted curls by his neck. His glasses were smudged, but still magnified the stunted shine in the eyes behind them. His hands were filled with books and a thermos, although his hands couldn’t be seen under the long sleeves of his somewhat _hideous_ patchwork sweater. At first, his appearance spoke the most between the four of them.

“Haven’t seen the glasses in a while!” Pete exclaimed. “What’s the occasion?”

“Couldn’t find my contacts.” William said, his voice low and droning. “My little brother flushed them down the toilet.”

“Oh.”

“ _Pete_.” Gabe muttered, teeth clenched.

“And then my parents were up at God’s damn hour fighting about _something_.” William went on without prompting. “So I’m running on about three hours of sleep.”

“You’re going to be okay today though, Will. You’ll do great today.” Gabe assured him, reaching behind William’s seat to grab both their backpacks and hanging one off each shoulder. “You speak better Spanish than me.”

“I was so close to being first in the class.” William sighed, taking a long sip from his thermos.

“You haven’t taken the test yet!” Ryan said hesitantly, Gabe looking at him from behind William with narrowed eyes. “You won’t know until you get there!”

“Optimism isn’t a good look on you, Ryan.” William said, blinking at him slowly, Ryan unsure if his eyes would open again. “But thanks anyway.” He turned away from them and began walking towards the school, the first bell due to ring at any moment.

Ryan and Pete stood under Gabe’s narrowed stare, waiting to be dismissed. He looked between the two of them repeatedly. Gabe’s eyes stayed on Ryan, making him horrifyingly aware of the graying guilt creeping up from his collar.

“Why do you look like that?” Gabe asked Ryan. Ryan sputtered, trying to avoid looking at the boy who was moments from placing his arm back around his shoulders. “I’m not mad, guys.”

“Oh, yeah. That. Yeah. You’re uh, scaring me, Gabe.” Ryan laughed, tapping Gabe’s shoulder jokingly.

“I’m not mad at you… I’m just really worried about him.” Gabe turned and began walking after William slowly. Pete and Ryan took either side of him, looking at each other with furrowed eyebrows.

“You? Worrying about William? Well, this is new.” Pete was trying to make Gabe realize he was probably making things appear bigger than they were, but only mocked him instead. He flinched as Gabe turned towards him. “I mean, what is it this time? He’s tired? Come on, Gabe. He’s fine.”

“He’s _really_ worried about this fucking test, guys. Like, mildly unhealthy kind of worried.” Gabe chewed his lip as he stared after the shrinking figure shuffling in front of them.

“Bill’s entire perspective of academics is unhealthy.” Ryan countered. “This _is_ his healthy.”

“No… I know what William’s habits are, and this isn’t one of them. I think maybe he’s putting too much pressure on himself.” Gabe sounded serious and just as exhausted as William had been. Seemed like someone else was up the night before in their own right. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being fucking paranoid about it but… there’s something not right.” Honesty was easy with Gabe— Ryan nearly walked into it Friday night on his carpool home—but Gabe was speaking with hesitance. There was something he wasn’t willing to share.

“Well… What’s been going on?” The irony of Ryan asking wasn’t lost on him, but the somberness of his morning was alarming in an inexpressible way. “Can we help?” Ryan stepped up onto the sidewalk, reaching forward to catch the closing door.

“I don’t know.” Gabe was unsure about many things—derivates, state capitals, presidents and corresponding passed legislation—but never William. “Earlier last week, we were hanging out—like we always do—and he just started—” Gabe struggled with his words as a crowd of students scattered away from a spilling tea cup in front of them. “ _Shit_ —Will, here, let me help. It’s okay. It’s just tea. I can get you more.” Ryan stayed near the door as Gabe rushed forward, comforting William with as much panic that began to spread across his face. “What are you looking at? Leave us alone!” Gabe clapped at the other students, most of them stumbling up the steps to escape the scene.

“We better go.” Pete said, tugging Ryan’s backpack and leading him towards their lockers. They weaved through the crowd, Ryan still able to hear Gabe’s voice switching between comforting William and clearing the hallway.

The particular hallway set aside of the senior class was at the farthest hall from the front doors. They just happened to luck out that way. They arrived at Ryan’s locker first, Pete taking his place beside Ryan and watching him switch out his books for his morning classes. Typically, Pete would watch Ryan’s hands, try to watch him without _actually_ watching him, but Pete was noticeably fixated on Ryan’s face. There was a detectable pause even in his glance.

“ _What_ , Pete?” Ryan asked, his arms going slack and letting his bag bang up against his shins. “What is the problem.”

“Nothing… Just something you said.” Pete muttered, averting his gaze.

“ _What_?”

“Nothing it’s just…. you aren’t scared of Gabe.” Pete folded his arms across his chest as if he was already at an advantage.

“Excuse me?”

“You said you looked nervous because you were scared of him. And I _know_ that’s not why.”

“ _What_. I—you don’t know _everything_ about me, Pete.” Ryan snapped back. “Stop pretending like you do.”

“I know enough, Ry.”

“No. You don’t know a damn thing.” Ryan slammed his locker door and turned on his heels, the knot twisting against his skin tightly. He ignored it and the sound of Pete’s voice calling after him.

Pete took the stairs two at a time, getting to the second floor and slipping into his first classroom quickly. Pete wouldn’t come in and make a scene. He’d just wait passive aggressively until the end of the school day, when he’d find Ryan and drive him home to make things uncomfortable again.

Ryan took out his skillfully taped folder and placed it on his desk, admiring the shockingly neat edges as he waited for someone else to enter the classroom. He had Latin first period and expected no one to appear before the final bell. Except for maybe Spencer.

“There you are!” He cried, throwing his hands up. “I thought you died over the weekend.”

“Why would you think that?” Ryan laughed.

“You responded to _none_ of my texts.”

“Ah, right.” Ryan honestly had forgotten about them after breakfast. The stinging itch on his foot was enough to make him forget a lot of things from that weekend. “I was busy.”

“A girl broke her _leg_.”

“My dad needed help fixing the _house_.” Ryan lied, although copying Spencer’s emphasizing cadence. “I dropped something and broke a tile in the kitchen. Had to help replace it.”

“Well, Butter Fingers, you missed one of the _best_ performances of _Our Director_ this season.” Spencer teased, reaching over and pushing Ryan’s shoulder. “Too bad you couldn’t stay.”

“I really wish I had, honestly.” Ryan agreed. Spencer raised his eyebrows, assuming the wrong reason—wrong person. “Well, maybe just a different ride home.” Spencer’s eyebrows somehow went higher. “I _meant_ not with Gabe.”

“Oh.” Not the answer Spencer was expecting. “W-Why?”

“He tried to talk to me… about _boy_ stuff.” Ryan lowered his voice in the empty classroom. Spencer leaned in closer to try and hear Ryan. He attempted to look serious, but the coughs of laughter betrayed him. “ _What_ , Spencer? What’s so funny?”

“I don’t understand why you just won’t say the word.” Spencer continued laughing, Ryan tapping his foot against the leg of his chair to try and counter the sound. “You can say _gay_ here—”

“ _Spencer_!” Ryan hushed, looking at the door which still remained closed. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“There’s _no one here_.” Spencer waved out to the rest of the classroom. “It’s just me, Ryan. What are you afraid of?”

“Everyone knowing my business.” Ryan muttered. He stopped kicking his feet and crossed his ankles. The first time he ever told someone, it was terrifying and harrowing, Ryan thought he was going to throw up as the words tumbled out of his mouth. His sputtering was met with a knowing smile and puff of smoke; any other reaction would further convince Ryan to keep things to himself. What Ryan was doing wasn’t exactly opening himself up, but not encountering the frightening possibilities kept him from being completely silent. “I don’t want everyone to know shit about me.”

“Ryan, people _already_ know things about you.” Spencer rationalized. He was wrong, but Ryan nodded as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “And even _if_ you didn’t want to tell everyone, what about us? Did you ever consider Gabe asked you because he _doesn’t_ know?”

“That could be a possibility.”

“Ryan. He’s been dating the same _guy_ for most of his life. If you were to be worried about any of us, it shouldn’t be Gabe.” Spencer said.

“I know, but—”

“You told me, right?”

Ryan nodded at Spencer again, but the comparison wasn’t the same. Ryan didn’t have the words or energy to explain why revealing anything to him was far different than telling anyone else. With Spencer, there was no fear.

“So, what did Gabe _say_ about these ‘boy things’.” Spencer asked, trying to redirect the conversation, but not let Ryan think he won in anyway. Of course not.

“He was just talking about marrying Will.” Ryan said. “That’s all.”

Spencer looked unsurprised, accepting Ryan’s shortened answer. He rolled his eyes as he faced forward in his seat, other students coming in and disrupting their conversation. Spencer didn’t press the subject further. Ryan said that was all, and that became the end. As much as Ryan appreciated the silence and Spencer’s respect of Ryan’s sudden conclusion to the topic, he wondered how long it would be until someone _did_ ask.

* * *

Ryan ate lunch behind the bleachers. He took back stairwells to get to his classes. He left his cellphone in his locker. He was _not_ going to talk to Pete until he absolutely had to. Which was announced with a long, clanging bell at the end of the day.

Walking back to his locker surrendered every ounce of pride Ryan thought he had shaken out of his clothes that morning. He tried to silence his footsteps as he approached his locker, but his tell-tale limp was far more noticeable than he thought. Pete’s head snapped towards him the moment he emerged from the stairwell.

“Hey! What the fuck?” Pete called down the hallway. They weren’t alone, but no one was surprised by Pete’s outburst. “Where have you been?”

“Hey! Mind your business.” Ryan responded sourly. “I’m not in the mood, Peter.”

“Did you just—what the fuck did I do to you? Ask about your goddamn day? Make sure you’re happy?” Pete cried, chasing him to his locker. “Damnit, Ryan! You make it so _fucking_ hard.”

“What do I do?” Ryan prodded, wrenching his locker door open.

“Nothing.” Pete retreated immediately, crossing his arms. “Nothing.”

“No. Go ahead.” Ryan sneered. “What do I make hard, Pete.” Ryan edged closer, his words directed at Pete’s face like darts. His aim was slightly off. “Go on.”

“Liking you.”

Pete seemed to find the bullseye all on his own, words plunging into Ryan’s chest and holding his heart still. Pete was still trying to rekindle something. He lit the match, but was intending on lighting a damn fire before the cigarette.

“Friends.” Ryan spat nervously. “What about _friends._ You said—”

“I know what I said. I just—I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m still trying to figure things out. What happened? I thought we were really working towards something really speci—”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. It was three months!” Ryan cried.

“I’ve known you a lot longer than that.” Pete defended, looking hurt somehow. Like the time was reason enough. Like Ryan owed him something. “I just thought, maybe you were just freaked out by the speed or the fact we were keeping it a secret.”

“Did you ever consider _why_ I wanted to keep it a secret?” Ryan said, clenching his jaw. They had had long discussion about the benefits of keeping things out of the gossip mill. Ryan pretended he just didn’t want the quiet whispering and pointed stares. Pete believed him, but still asked questions. It seemed as though Ryan wasn’t the only one not able to trust the other. “Because that is reason enough to understand why I want _this_ to be over.”

“ _What_. What could be your reason? Why do you have to keep pushing people away?” Pete was nearly shouting in the hallway, giving away their conversation and location to anyone in a three-block radius, Ryan was sure. Secrecy was _obviously_ his forte. “I knew you were too immature for this.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Ryan matched Pete’s volume with a challenging tone. “What was that?”

“I knew you were too damn _young_ to be in any serious relationship. Patrick knew it from a fucking mile away—”

“ _Patrick_! You told _Patrick_!”

“Yeah, because like an actual _person_ , I tell people things. I communicate with those that I trust. I have people that I keep involved in my life. Something you wouldn’t know _anything_ about, obviously.” Pete sneered, all but spitting on Ryan. Pete outed Ryan to Patrick in his own unknowing way and all he had to complain about was trust. Pete really was clueless. It was exactly what Ryan wanted, but now it was becoming dangerous. Even letting someone the tiniest bit in had shown to have disastrous results. Patrick didn’t have loose lips of any kind, thankfully, but suppose Pete’s confidant had been Gabe— _Oh shit_.

“Who else did you tell?” Ryan asked quickly, stepping up to Pete’s personal space. “Who else?”

“No one!” Pete answered, stepping back. “Just Patrick.”

“Promise me!”

“Ryan, why can’t you just _trust me_? I’m honestly fucking _trying_ here, I—” Pete cut off suddenly as his vision shifted over Ryan’s shoulder. His face relaxed and he dropped his tense shoulders, trying to muster up a grin. “Hey, Will!”

“Hi.” He said. He was shuffling over to them, backpack seemingly weighing him down and tipping him forward. “Can I get a ride home?”

“Yes!” Ryan said immediately, needing something to diffuse the atomic bomb building between them. “Of course you can. Where’s Gabe?”

“In some academic advisor meeting. I don’t want to wait around. I want to go home and start my homework.” William answered.

“Homework? Why don’t you take a break tonight? You look awful.” Ryan suggested, turning to open an arm to William, worried he’d tip over when he stopped his momentum.

“Can’t. Chem project.” William disagreed weakly. “Just drive me home.”

“Sure.” Pete agreed immediately. He reached out for William as well, careful to stand a distance away from Ryan, the polarization still forcing them apart. “Let’s get you home.”

“Thanks.” He fell into Ryan’s side as he spoke. Ryan placed his arm around his waist for support, find the fabric cold and wet.

“Did you spill something on yourself, Will?” Ryan asked. William barely seemed to acknowledge the question, looking at Ryan with confusion. “You’re all wet… Are you _sweating_ this much? Will, what’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing. Just my Spanish exam.” William removed his glasses as he replied, giving Pete and Ryan the unseen moment to look at each with matching concern; maybe Gabe’s worry that morning was warranted.

“Let’s go out the front exit.” Pete suggested, lifting his eyebrows at Ryan. As if Ryan didn’t understand that taking them that way would guarantee they pass the advising office, and hopefully Gabe. “You know where I’m parked.”

“Whatever.” William agreed, starting to shuffle down the hallway.

They followed William closely, neither Pete nor Ryan able to force any words out, and ignoring the other in favor of the new distraction. Pete walked with righteousness, the attitude that if Ryan went for his throat again, he’d have all the ammunition to prove he was right. All Ryan had to walk with was a limp.

William rounded the hall to the front entrance first, leaning against the staircase and waiting for Pete and Ryan to step over the picket line and stand near each other. Ryan reached for Will’s backpack as he came within reach, insisting that Will was a strong wind away from crawling home.

“You know, just because Gabe isn’t driving me home doesn’t mean _you_ guys have to take his place. I don’t need to be coddled.” William said with quiet laughter, shouldering over his bag. “I’m fine.”

“Let some of us live the dream, Bill.” Ryan teased, clapping him on the back. The sweater was just as cold as his side. William started to look clammy, but his eyes looked slightly more alert than they had been that morning. His laughter was still muted, but he was at least attempting a smile.

“William! There you are!” William’s smile disappeared as he heard the voice descending the stairs behind him. “I hope you feel better.”

“Gracias Professora.” William muttered, his face growing pale again.

“I was so worried about you today. You didn’t seem yourself.” Ryan had never seen the professor before, but her presence was comforting even in after-school hours. She waited until she was at the landing of the stairs, even with William, before she continued speaking. “You did great on today’s exam though. Don’t know how you pulled that off.” She squeezed his shoulder tightly as she grinned at him.

“I did?” He said, his entire world realigning.

“Of course, William. Don’t doubt yourself so much.” She said. “You deserved that ninety.”

“Ninety.” William echoed. Pete reached forward to clap him on the other arm, but Ryan’s hand shot out to grab his wrist, pulling it away from William. His eyes had grown distant, his world falling off kilter and plummeting downward. “Ninety.”

“Bill?” Ryan said slowly, placing a gentler hand on his shoulder. Ryan stepped closer to him as the teacher walked away, having made another benign comment and heading into the academic office. “That’s good.”

“That’s a B.” William said.

“Yeah? And? That’s a great grade, Will. Considering you took the test on a twenty-minute powernap or _however_ long you slept.” Pete added.

“I studied so hard.” William wasn’t defiant or trying to argue the grade. He spoke quietly as he reached to pull his glasses off, rubbing his eyes. “I needed that A to bump me up to first.”

“Will, it’s okay. You did a great job.” Pete continued.

“ _No_. I didn’t!” William snapped, covering his face. “I fucked it up so badly.”

“Will, you got a B.” Ryan reiterated. “That’s not failing, believe it or not.” Ryan tried to use the softest tone he could muster after screaming at Pete moments before. He thought he accomplished the task with minor success, but William didn’t seem to take to the kindness. He still covered his face and pulled away from their touch to lean against the wall. Pete and Ryan stood around him, unsure of what words could console the quiet sobs escaping from behind his hands.

As William began to cry, Ryan turned to Pete with raised hands and eyes begging for answers. Pete shrugged and seemed just as clueless. Ryan had no idea what to do when any of his friends got overwhelmingly upset. Ryan was good for sitting and rubbing backs or holding hands when he knew what had happened, letting them vent to him. He was good for listening to Patrick when a kid spitefully destroyed his Honors Fair project before his very eyes; Ryan didn’t have to say a word, but he helped. In this case though, Ryan was going to be responsible for talking William out of his calamity and he didn’t even understand why he was crying.

“Pete.” Ryan mouthed, waving his hand at him. “Get. Gabe.”

“What? Why?” Pete asked, actually taking it upon himself to whisper and alert William they were talking about him. Ryan gestured outwardly towards William, who was beginning to mutter to himself as he lowered his hands, looking around the hallway frantically. “What—What’s wrong?” Pete recovered.

“Where’s a trashcan?” William whined. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“What? Why?” Pete repeated.

“Don’t _ask him_!” Ryan sighed, rolling his eyes at Pete. “You are so fucking thick-headed sometimes, Pete. Honestly.”

“Stop squabbling and get me a trashcan.” William begged, covering his mouth and starting to walk towards the front doors.

Ryan chased after William, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and trying to steer him towards any nearby trashcan. At the front of the school, close to the office door, was a tall blue recycling bin. Recycling had become a hot-button issue since Patrick became student body president, his academic popularity and prowess pushing his petitions for recycling all the way to the county level. It seemed pretty ironic now that William was nearly shoulder deep in one throwing his guts up in it, and on Patrick’s achievements it seemed.

William gripped the sides of the trashcan, his fingers tearing the thin plastic bag as he nearly toppled into it. Ryan quickly tried to hold his bandana out of his eyes while also tugging his sweater collar back and out of the way without choking him. Ryan had himself braced himself against William to keep him from falling over and looked like a panicked circus act himself. Pete had disappeared from the hallway and Ryan was on his own, trying to figure out where his day went wrong. Or more importantly, where did William’s?

“It’s… It’s okay, Will. It’s okay.” Ryan muttered, trying to soothe him. “It’s just a test. That’s all.”

“Stop talking, Ryan. Just _stop. talking_.” Gabe was suddenly storming towards them, Pete at his heels and the Spanish teacher close behind. Ryan stepped back without another word, hands in the air. “What’s going on, Will, huh? What’s the matter?” Gabe asked far more softly than Ryan was attempting to. He placed a hand on William’s back and leaned in close to him. William had stopped vomiting for the moment, but was still coughing up sobs.

“I’m going to call his parents.” The teacher said, hurrying into the office.

“No. Don’t tell them.” William tried to rush after her but Gabe kept him planted in front of the trashcan. “Please, don’t let her.”

“Will, she has to get you help.” Gabe said, soothing William’s upturned hair. “We can’t drive you home like this.”

“I don’t care! Don’t tell them about the test. I don’t want them—”

“The test?” Gabe echoed. “Will, we’re not worried about that. We’re worried about you. You’re vomiting.” Fear crawled across Gabe’s face as he spoke, his thoughts barely uttered that morning now sounding loudly from the scene before him. “William, what’s going on?”

“Stop looking at me like that!” William cried, covering his face as he suddenly became aware of the two other sets of eyes witnessing this breakdown. “Stop it stop it _stop it_!”

“Okay okay okay!” Gabe hushed, wrapping his arms around William. “They’re leaving. It’s okay.” He stared over at Ryan and Pete, watching them scramble to the front door.

The parking lot was empty as they stepped outside, Pete’s car the only one in the row he chose that morning. Ryan stood still, stunned and fighting the urge to turn and look through the glass doors and try to see what was unfolding. Pete kept walking towards his car without stopping.

“Can I drive you home or are you going to be a piece of shit about it?” Pete asked, not turning to look at him.

Ryan was still too shocked to focus on anything else. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“What?”

“Do you think Will’s going to be okay?” Ryan asked again, taking a step off the sidewalk and approaching Pete. He turned to him as he reached his side. “Gabe looked scared.”

“I don’t know.” Pete sighed, biting his lip. “Will’s got some secrets I guess. Who knows what’s going on with him.”

Pete always spoke about secrets venomously, like they were the single thing poisoning his and Ryan’s relationship. Ryan always kept dirty secrets, kept to himself too much, hid things away from everyone. But William wasn’t like Ryan. Pete spoke quietly and with heaviness. He was the one that felt guilty, rather than splattering the guilt on the other person with angry pointed fingers and well-aimed words. Pete was remorseful of the secrets he hadn’t figured out on his own. Pete saw William as a quiet sufferer. And Pete never saw Ryan’s limp as he followed him to the car.


	3. 107

None of them saw Gabe or William for two days. After being caught up, Spencer, Patrick, and a slightly confused Jon were dumbstruck and stricken with worry. Every frantic question begging for answers was answered with Pete and Ryan’s unsatisfactory shoulder shrug. Ryan had spent the rest of Monday running through his conversation with Pete, shamefully forgetting the situation that caused it in the first place. Everyone was worried, checking their phones instead of talking during lunch and standing around the parking lot in hopes of spotting one of them. They were all completely surprised by the news, completely unaware that there was anything wrong with William. They didn’t have a name or a finger to point yet, but they still didn’t know of _anything_ to get William as distraught and uncontrolled. The news even cooled the fire smoldering between Pete and Ryan from Monday afternoon. Not to say that Ryan completely forgave Pete for letting slip their summer relationship, but he put it to the side to focus on more pertinent things. He let Pete drive him to and from school without any biting remarks or snide glances. Ryan was too busy texting Gabe every morning to start anything.

Wednesday afternoon, they were all crowded around Pete’s car, trying to decide what they should do next. Spencer suggested they wait another day, Patrick said to just call one of their parents, and Pete suggested they bum-rush their houses and find them on their own. Jon and Ryan were both characteristically silent—Ryan knew there was a reason he liked Jon. They watched the two argue while the third sat uncomfortably in the middle trying to calm the two sides, and tried to follow who was arbitrarily “winning”. Ryan was nearly positive Spencer was in the lead when Jon distracted him with a sharp nudge to the side.

“Isn’t that your friend?” Ryan wasn’t sure what knowledge Jon could have about any of this friends, but turned to follow his eyesight anyway. Down the parking lot was a tall figure, shuffling towards them, sweatshirt attempting to swallow his upper half and head hanging down.

“Holy shit. Gabe!” Ryan cried, turning all the way around. He wanted to run to him, but his foot had too much searing pain to put any pressure on. He’d have to noticeably limp the entire way over.

“How’s Bill?”

“Is he okay? We haven’t heard anything.”

“We’ve been worried sick about both of you.”

“The fuck, man?”

“He’s with his parents.” Gabe muttered, coming to a stop in front of their frantic questions. “They’re committing him.”

“ _What_?”

“His parents took him in last night.” Gabe continued, the words sounding rehearsed, echoing the words bouncing around in his ears. “Apparently, he’s had that happen a lot more than just that one time.”

“All that? Multiple times?” Patrick asked, his face crumpling with worry. “That’s terrible.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Spencer asked, stepping forward to place a hand on Gabe’s shoulder.

“I’m going to see him now.” Gabe replied. “I haven’t seen him yet. I don’t know if you’d like to—”

“We’ll go.” Spencer agreed immediately. “Right, guys?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Shut up and let us help both of you.” Spencer smiled, squeezing his shoulder. Gabe looked around at all of them with tired but grateful eyes. Ryan couldn’t imagine the shift in his world from talking about marrying William and having only rose-tinted dreams to now being faced with a person he didn’t even know—and wasn’t allowed to see until now.

“I’ll ride with Gabe.” Ryan offered, finally taking the hand offered to him on Friday evening. He patted the top of his hand as he tried to muster a convincing smile for Gabe.

The group paired off, Pete driving Patrick and Jon driving Spencer, and all climbed into the cars, waiting for Gabe to drive first to begin following. Ryan had never been in the front seat of Gabe’s car before. Actually, he was sure no one other than William ever had been. His things were in the passenger side door and tucked under the visor, claiming his half of the car. Ryan kept his feet tucked in close to his seat, the knot wearing on the raw spot on the top of his foot as he rocked them back and forth nervously. He knew he should be starting conversation to console Gabe, but he had no idea where he was supposed to start.

“So… How are you?” Ryan said stiffly.

“I haven’t slept in two days.” Gabe said, starting the car. “Will’s parents haven’t kept me in the loop because I’m just the _best friend_. They don’t understand that he’s the most important thing in my _fucking_ life. I’m not just wandering around their house lost because I’m just his longest friend. That’s Will. That’s _my_ William. And they won’t fucking tell me _anything_!” All Gabe’s secrets were pouring with the gentlest poke. Apparently keeping one for so long made every other one beg to be released. Gabe made no comment like they would be planning on uncovering their long-term secret any time soon. Even with hospitalization and separation, some secrets were meant to be kept, Ryan supposed. He’d have to keep that in mind for the future.

“I’m sorry, man.” Ryan sighed. He really was, but his words deflated the moment he tried to say them, confessing how much he had let them all in. Ryan decided that silence was a far more telling than any words he could stitch together. He was giving Gabe time to think instead of crowding his head with more questions he didn’t have sufficient answers to. Ryan knew he didn’t have any to provide for the tumultuous week Gabe was already having, even before he found his Wednesday afternoon being spent en route to a hospital psych ward.

The two other cars followed close behind Gabe’s, pulling into the two parking spots near his as they climbed out of the car. They exchanged no conversation as they all filed behind Gabe, walking towards the main entrance. Ryan smoothed his hair down and Spencer made sure his shirt was evenly tucked in; if the hospital staff was going to let six teenagers in the psych ward, they better look the least troublesome that they could. They pushed Patrick to the front to stand beside Gabe as he went to the front desk.

The woman didn’t look up as Gabe approached her, eyes fixed to her computer screen and hands busy copying notes from a chart beside her keyboard. Ryan scanned the waiting room in hopes of finding someone less busy they could grovel in front of, but only saw familiar white polos floating around, smiling and offering prayers. Of course that damn academy would do _volunteer work_.

“I’m here to see William Beckett.” Gabe said, twisting his hands under the desk ledge. “Admitted last night.”

“Name please?” She answered, flipping a page of her chart.

“Gabe Saporta.”

A pause. “Sorry, you aren’t on the list.”

“The list? What is this, a club?” Gabe snapped. “I should be on that make-believe list. I’ve been his boyfriend for six years!”

“Congratulations.” She deadpanned. “You aren’t allowed to see him though. I’m sorry.”

“Please. You have to let us see him, we’re very worried about him.” Patrick cut in, using his foot to push Gabe back. “Just for a little while.” Patrick had a way with sincerity that Ryan never quite mastered. He tried taking notes, trying to look far too engrossed in the conversation to be bothered by one of the Mormons floating through the doorway leading to main halls.

“I’m sorry but you can’t. We don’t have enough monitoring for such a… _large_ group.” She looked up from her computer to only acknowledge Patrick. “Come back tomorrow maybe, when we have someone on duty for this.”

“I’ll do it, Samantha. I can handle these guys.” A new voice poked out from behind the door, their brilliant smile twisting her arm. The voice was new to the conversation, but one very familiar to Ryan. As was the swooping brown hair, the confident stance, and the piercing eyes. Ryan didn’t think Brendon had seen him, his act being done purely by coincidence, until he felt Brendon’s passively directed gaze find its way onto him. “Not like I can’t handle a few troubled youths.” Before Ryan knew what he was watching, Brendon winked and waved them through the main door.

And here, after the world had come around and slapped Gabe and William across the face, it was coming full circle to find Ryan and remind him that he hadn’t gotten _everything_ quite right yet.

Gabe was too gracious to notice the smirk that tinted Brendon’s grin, and followed him quickly, ready to leave the rest of them behind if they didn’t make it through the door in time for it to close behind him. Ryan loitered in the back of the crowd, letting Spencer and Jon walk in front of him and receive full exposure to Brendon’s over-the-shoulder check-ups. Last time Ryan saw Brendon, he was fuming and here he was, grinning and coy. Great, a Mormon who believed in public shaming.

Brendon walked with a curious stride, his feet crossing over each other as he went forward and his hips swinging evenly. His white polo stretched over his pushed back shoulders, his chin lifted again. In Brendon’s mind, he must have been six feet tall, demanding the room with his presence amongst medical professionals and miracle workers. He navigated the halls, passing rooms and waving to patients inside, skirting around carts, and dodging nurses completing charts as they walked. Last time Ryan went through the hall of a hospital, he hadn’t walked there himself. The sight-seeing was an added feature for Ryan, being able to see what was _actually_ inside of a hospital, and some of the pint-sized volunteers that worked there.

Ryan found himself staring, forcing himself to remember that he was _not_ at Patrick’s birthday party the year previous. He would not let staring reveal anything else or get him into any quarter year commitments. He directed his gaze to a chart tray as they passed the nurses’ station. Just because he wasn’t being shouted at by Brendon didn’t mean he had the green light to admire _anything_.

“Beckett you said, right?” Brendon asked, turning to look at Gabe with capturing charm. He brought them to a foreboding white door, alerting them to not cross without any staff. Brendon waved his ID card out to them with a grin before tapping it against the scanner. “He just finished meetings and therapy today, so he might be a little slow to warm up to you guys, but he’s okay. I promise. Just been a rough time so far.”

“You sure?” Gabe asked. He stepped through the door carefully, the hallway narrowing around them, no open patient doors to wave through. “I don’t want to upset him.”

“You won’t.” Brendon laughed. His laugh was soft and warm, inviting in a way Ryan thought he could reach out and take hold of the sound, his fingers gliding across the comfort. “I mean, you _are_ Gabe, right? You’re the boyfriend?” Gabe nodded eagerly. “He hasn’t stop asking about you. I actually think _he’s_ worried about you.”

“Yeah, that’s Will.” Pete muttered, rolling his eyes. “Quite the worrier.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Brendon muttered. His tone dropped off and his smile faded, making the group remember the introduction and first impression he must have had of William. Ryan was sure it was anything like the William they all knew. He slowed by room 107, knocking lightly before poking his head in. “William? Can I come in? I have some visitors.”

“I don’t want to see my parents right now.” His voice was weak and muffled.

“Noted.” Brendon nodded. “But it’s not them. Or another doctor.”

“Still don’t want to see them.” William said again. “Leave me alone.”

“I thought you said he’d be fine.” Gabe said, tapping Brendon on the shoulder harshly. “What’s wrong with him?”

“…D-Did you bring Gabe?” William’s voice floated to the door, unmuffled and sharp, like it had been shaken awake. “Did I just hear Gabe?” Brendon turned to smile at Gabe before pushing the door the rest of the way open, waving them in.

William’s bed faced the door, his surprised face greeting them all as they entered. William looked the same as he had on Monday, although less exhausted but fatigued in some different way instead. He was dressed in a plain, washed-out blue set of clothes—Ryan wasn’t sure if they were pajamas or a uniform of some kind. He was sitting upright in bed, blankets pushed back as he tried to get out of bed. Gabe rushed to him before he could place a foot to the floor.

“All of you? What are you doing here!” William cried, throwing his arms around Gabe. They gripped each other tightly, William’s fingers digging into Gabe’s sweatshirt, trying to get as close as he could to the boy underneath. “God, I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Bill, you’re in the hospital.” Spencer noted, leaning against the foot of the bed. “ _We’ve_ been worried about _you_.”

“We really have, Will.” Gabe agreed, still holding him and placing a hand on the back of his head.

“I know…I-I’m sorry.” William loosened his hold around Gabe to lean against him, his hands twisting the hem of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“What are you talking about? This isn’t your fault.” Patrick soothed.

“I know, but… I should have said something… About…” William took a slow breath, like the crawling millisecond before the last of a fuse burns and reaches the explosive; relishing in the serene peace before everything you know is destroyed. To Ryan, that’s all the truth ever really did; take your perfectly constructed world and tear it all to pieces. “Uh, Brendon, can we have a minute?” Ryan nearly missed the boy standing by the door, admiring the evenness of his cuticles.

“Sorry, can’t.” He replied, looking at William with a neutral expression.

“Hey, he asked nicely.” Ryan cut in. “Don’t suddenly flex your goddamn volunteer muscles. We aren’t impressed.”

“Ryan, it’s fine.” William said worriedly, quickly trying to smother the tension.

“Yeah, _Ryan_.” Brendon twisted his name, ending with a quiet chuckle as he was handed an unknown satisfaction. “William is still on seventy-two-hour, admission watch. So as much as you want to ask _nicely_ , I can’t leave him alone with a group of teenagers. You guys aren’t even allowed to be here.”

“Five bucks says you’re the youngest one here.” Ryan scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I bet those _same_ five bucks to say I’m the only one here with the power to get you kicked out.” Brendon challenged, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Like to make it interesting?”

“Ryan, stop fighting with the volunteer and pay the fuck attention.” Pete seethed, slapping Ryan upside the head. Ryan silenced his response as he rubbed the sore spot on his head, pressing his lips together to face William with a forced smile. Behind him, he could hear that same warm laughter slinking up behind him, turning to ice as it reached his ears. No one else seemed to hear Pete or Brendon, all focused on William and his fumbling words.

William didn’t speak in any sentences that Ryan could understand. They were vague metaphors about how he would feel on any given day, but would trail off and end it with a “you know?”. But they didn’t and none of them had the heart to tell him. He mentioned water and drowning, but Ryan never thought he had any experiences with the ocean in landlock Nevada, until he realized that William was trying to say he _was_ the ocean, that he was living in one. Ryan felt a wave crash in his own stomach.

No. Drowning was what his father did every night, downing case by case of whatever was on the sale rack at the liquor store. Ryan didn’t feel submerged. He was floating, in control of every facet of his life. He held all plans close to his chest, waiting to touch shore and start off again. The pain lapping against his foot as he rocked his weight on his heels was normal by then; he didn’t need to be supervised behind white walls and thin, wired glass. Ryan wasn’t drowning. His father was the one that needed help. _He_ was the sick one. Ryan was just allowed to watch the destruction.

“How do you feel, Will?” Patrick asked, the first to speak after William’s long confession. “I mean, we have no gauge on how things were before to even begin to really—”

“Pat.” Pete said quietly, touching his shoulder. “You can just ask how he is. It doesn’t need an explanation.”

“Right…. How do you feel, Will?”

“I feel okay.” He sounded hopeful, like the word didn’t hold as much dissatisfaction as was being heard by the group. “I’m okay for now.”

“Can I do anything for you?” Patrick reached out to touch William’s leg. “I can get homework or—”

“Sorry, you can’t talk about that.” Brendon was suddenly away from the wall and walking up to William’s bedside swiftly. He was waving at Patrick with an open hand, like he toying with the pin in a grenade. “You can’t mention those things.”

“Oh, now you’re policing our conversations?” Ryan scoffed, throwing his hands up. Some people just thought they could get away with whatever they wanted. A pretty face wasn’t _everything_. Will was in the middle of a confession—the scene fascinating to Ryan, the reactions and process being observed for future reference— and Brendon was interrupting it to seem like _he_ cared. “I thought you were just the volunteer.”

“Those things upset him and the doctors said to keep things stress-free for a few days.” Brendon said with a sharpness Ryan didn’t expect, making him feel suddenly embarrassed. He had intended to stand up for William, not just _against_ Brendon. “I thought you were his _friend_.”

“Hey, you know what—” Ryan started, pointing his finger the same way he remembered Brendon doing in the locker room, forceful and unwavering, like he could push right through him. Or at least that’s what Ryan was going for.

“He doesn’t need all this arguing.” Brendon barked, his jaw tightening as Ryan’s finger hovered in his face. “All of you get out now.”

“Brendon, it’s okay.” William said frantically, touching his arm. Tears seemed to well in his eyes immediately, Gabe staring between the three of them with a new look of boiling panic. He was just reunited with Will, and Ryan’s inability to let Brendon have the last word was going to separate them. “Ryan just cares a lot. He’s always like this.” Not true, but William seemed to believe it.

“I know.” Brendon replied shortly. “But it’s not helping. I think they should leave.” His confidence was stunning, Brendon’s previously smug face shifted to stone as he glared at Ryan. The anger was familiar, telling Ryan he was pushing things. He couldn’t tell which of them had the shorter fuse.

“No, I’ll just go. Will needs some company. _That_ will help him.” Ryan dropped his hand and turned to William, grabbing his foot and squeezing it lightly. “I’ll be around soon enough. Take care, Will, okay?”

“Ryan—”

“It’s fine, Will. Really. I wouldn’t want to make anyone upset.” Ryan was sure to cast an accusatory glance towards Brendon, even though he was too busy marking notes on a chart to be considerate enough to look up. Ryan was being ignored blatantly and skillfully. Fucking _volunteers_.

Ryan stormed for the door, making his gait as even as he could as he crossed the room. His **left** foot was burning as he leaned down on it with each step. Spencer tried to stop him, grabbing his arm and spinning him as he was balanced on his left foot. The pain was white hot, Ryan’s vision blotting as Spencer held him in place, asking if he was okay, like his outburst was unusual. Ryan didn’t hear any words sliding out between Spencer’s teeth, everything turning to white noise as Ryan felt the glass renter his foot all over again.

“It’s fine, Spence.” Ryan pleaded, pushing his hand off his arm. “I’ll just wait down the hall. It’s fine. It’s fine.” He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to only himself, the words not sounding like they ever left his head, but Spencer finally releasing him. Ryan shifted his weight off his foot immediately and felt heat slowly creep up his neck, restoring the color he was unaware had drained from his face. “Just come get me when you’re done.”

Luckily, with William sitting in a hospital bed, no attention was directed towards Ryan’s notably awkward behavior. It was glossed over with disapproving looks and short waves goodbye as he slipped out the door and back into the thin hallway. Ryan had no desire to stay in the separate ward for much longer and limped to the door at the end of the hallway, entering the main hospital floor again.

It was quieter than Ryan ever remembered, the nurses and doctors buzzing between rooms without an audible word passing between them. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was a different floor that made everything far more relaxing, or the fact he wasn’t lying in a bed on double the average dose of pain medication because he had shattered glass in his back. It must have been a mix of the too. Or it was the pure angelic _brilliance_ of the mob of Mormon volunteers pattering through the hallways.

A young-looking one was walking towards Ryan, a small black book tucked neatly under his arm. Much like Brendon, he was wearing creased black pants with a white embordered polo, the academy name shimmering from his chest.

“Hello, sir. Do you need assistance finding your desired destination? I’d love to give you any aid you require.” It wasn’t a fucking _theme park_.

“Uh, no. But would you maybe know where I could get some coffee.” Ryan asked. “Just point, I can find my way.” He added, trying to avoid being pulled around by the boy.

“Coffee. Uh.” The request startled him. He probably only knew his way to the chapel or the general resting areas of the hospital, and Ryan was asking him to go off book. “I—I would assume it would be that way. The cafeteria.” He pointed towards the left side of the hallway stretching horizontally against the entrance to the psych ward.

“What’s down there that you _assume_?” Ryan asked, aware he was being difficult, but was more curious. “It’s coffee.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Well, God forbid.” Ryan scoffed.

“It’s forbidden.” He said quietly, defending his uselessness.

“Oh, so quite literally, God forbid.” Ryan hummed, noting the restriction. “Thanks for the directions to hell.” He nodded before walking down the hallway, his leg beginning to drag as he went, not wanting to lift too much pressure off of it to create the same crash of pain every time he pushed all the way down again. Steady flow of pain rather than a horrific bombardment of quick flashes of pain.

The cafeteria was in an open atrium, other hallways and stairs emptying out in the white titled room, glass ceiling pouring sunlight over the tables. Ryan hoped he wouldn’t do the same as he lifted the surprisingly heavy coffee pot, attempting to get every drop of coffee in the worryingly thin Styrofoam cup. Ryan had never gotten his own food from the cafeteria. Each time he ate, it was brought to him on a beige tray in measured proportions at a specific time that never matched the schedule of his stomach. Being back was a confrontation Ryan hadn’t expected to have that day. The two forces seemed to be getting along amicably though.

 A few eyes followed Ryan as he walked to a round table, placing the cup down before easing himself into the chair. He heard a small girl ask her mother if Ryan had just learned how to walk too—just like her baby brother. It was blissful to finally be off his feet completely, Ryan lifting and resting them on the chair across from him. It was no longer the gauze that was bothering him, but instead his entire foot. The pain seemed to originate from nowhere in particular, but spreading across the entire arch of his foot. Ryan made a note to never walk barefoot in his own home again. Hazard of being the only Ross child.

“Ryan!” He purposely didn’t turn to the voice at the entrance behind him. “How did you get here so damn fast? I got lost my first day here.”

“One of your brothers gave me clues.” Ryan said into his cup, not stopping as he took a sip. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Brendon stopped at the side of the table, his arms crossed and posture leaning his hips towards Ryan. Ryan kept his focus rigidly restrained to the Styrofoam cup, although the isolation of their conversation made Ryan feel his peripheral vision tug to focus on _something_ about him.

“Didn’t get enough scolding in while I was with all of my friends?” Ryan muttered. “You are unbelievable.” Ryan had never met a more aggravating volunteer. Why did the world have to keep putting them in the same damn spot?

“No. I don’t want to yell at you, dick.” Brendon shook his head quickly, his hips subtly doing the same. “I wanted to apologize… and make sure you were okay.”

“What?” Ryan’s self-control caved as he quickly turned to look at Brendon. Pete wasn’t around so he allowed himself to look with commitment, eyes slowly taking in the arched eyebrows and pursed pink lips watching him. Ryan’s second inquisition slipped out as he found himself at the receiving end of a soft and concerned gaze rather than one looking to scold him. “What.”

“I’ve been working here for almost a full year—mind if I sit?” He tapped the other chair and Ryan lifted his feet from the seat hesitantly, nodding at Brendon. “I’ve worked here almost a year, and I can tell when people are in pain.” He sank into the chair and leaned his folded arms on the table.

“Oh, god. Working with the weepy crazy people has made you into a therapist, now?” Ryan sighed, regretting his invitation and offering of chair. “I don’t want your diagnosis, preacher boy. Thanks.”

“Would you just shut up for once in your damn life and listen to me.” Brendon said firmly, hands hitting the table. “Your limp isn’t invisible.”

Ryan tried to swallow the shock tightening his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My foot is _fine_.” Brendon’s immediate reaction was laughter, the warmth floating directly around Ryan’s head, like a hazy ring of smoke.

“I didn’t even mention your foot so obviously, now I know you’re lying.” He pointed out, smugness smearing over his words. “You’re not very good at keeping things from anyone, are you?” Ryan felt a tug in him to begin to disagree and defend his skill of deception, but Ryan was also slowly becoming aware of Brendon’s skill of dismantling Ryan’s attempts. He wasn’t sure what lengths his ability went, but Brendon obviously had a farther reach than Pete. Ryan would have to readjust his techniques. “Well?”

“It’s _fine_.” Ryan insisted. “I rolled my ankle the other day. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Did you fall or something?” Brendon pressed. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was a trap or him taking the bait. “I fell off my skateboard a few months ago and really messed _my_ ankle up. I had to—”

“You don’t know how to skateboard.” Ryan countered, a smile peeking through his forced grimace. “Look at you.” There was no way that naïve, cherubic looking boy had any other form of transportation besides his worn black sneakers or the passenger seat in his church’s carpool. “That’s vanity transportation.”

“Yes, I do. But don’t change the subject.” Brendon uncrossed his arms and rested only his elbows on the table, his hands lacing under his chin. He pursed his lips but the corners noticeably tugged into a smirk. “I’m asking about you—well, actually, just your injury. I couldn’t give less of a shit about you.” Brendon winked again quickly, surprising Ryan. “I’m waiting, Ross.”

“It’s Ryan.”

“It can also be Asshole too, if you’d prefer. Unless you want to tell me why it looks like you’re walking on glass all the time.”

“Yeah.” Ryan said.

It came out in one breath; the sudden chance of someone not only _asking_ but attempting to _guess_ his situation presenting Ryan with the opportunity to never have to create the words himself. His own personal mental block had been surpassed and Ryan unknowingly was on his way to admitting something. All without having to say much else. He could just agree without having to explain the why, the how, the blame, the bottles, the fake girlfriend, the late return home, the drunk father, the dead mother. He’d have to explain none of it. All he had to do was agree.

“I—Yeah, _what_?” Brendon’s face furrowed in a peculiar way, Ryan’s words sputtering to a stop as he tried to uncoil his scrunched nose—it was already ill-proportioned for his face, and scrunching it up in confusion did not add any brush of subtly to the expression—and try to smooth the wrinkles across his forehead, disappearing behind the unbelievably picturesque swoop of hair.

“Yes.” Ryan said. “That.”

“What did I say—I called you an asshole. How is that—” Brendon cocked his head, giving Ryan a momentary look of disgust, thinking he was just pulling him along, until all his scrunched wrinkles and furrowed brows relaxed, his eyes losing focus on Ryan as he thought back to his other comparison. “Walking on glass?”

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Ryan said. His coffee was chilled, but he took a long sip anyway, the gears grinding at a deafening volume behind Brendon’s eyes.

“You should let me look at it.” Ryan didn’t expect Brendon’s offer, spitting some of his mouthful of coffee on himself and the table as he laughed. “I’m being serious. Let me help.”

“And why would you do that? Aren’t I the asshole that _didn’t_ save your life?” Ryan said, swallowing his gulp of coffee. “Why would you help me?”

“ _Maybe_ because I’m trying to apologize, _asshole_.” Brendon snapped back at Ryan but simultaneously shrank with guilt in his seat. “And you should just shut up and let me look.” Ryan didn’t expect an apology, a recognition that it wasn’t only his actions that held consequences. Ryan wasn’t being reprimanded or scolded. He wasn’t about to be pushed or silenced. Brendon was attempting to mend the grimace previously cemented on his face.

“What? Right here, in the cafeteria?” Ryan was hoping the realization would discourage the sudden comfort he felt with Brendon’s offer. “Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s fine, really. Just a little cut.”

“You cut your foot on glass?” Brendon echoed. “Shut up and come with me.” He grabbed Ryan’s wrist, forcing him to quickly abandon his cup on the table to slide out of his chair. He winced the minute Brendon tugged him forward, accidentally stepping forward with his left foot. He focused on not falling into Brendon. Ryan kept his expression as neutral as he could, now knowing that Brendon had an ability to read it with ease.

Ryan had met this boy only days before and already he was following him to a previously unnoticed exam room at the end of the hallway he had emerged from. Brendon had a way of tricking Ryan’s words into sliding across his tongue and through his loose lips. They should have been presses around a cigarette—or at least sewn shut. Once he’d start to pull at the thread, Ryan would at least have the time to prepare himself. Pete was more of a thread-cutter, bombarding Ryan with questions hoping that one would spur an answer. Brendon seemed to have more patience, but Ryan was sure that came from a place of disinterest. Pete was the perfect boyfriend, and Brendon was just trying to avoid having Ryan amputate his foot. He was a person who didn’t believe in punching first, for Christ’s sake. Brendon was patient and apologetic, but also just _doing his job_. He was merely fulfilling a requirement, Ryan told himself, sitting on the long exam bench. It had nothing to do with _him_.

“Take your shoe off and let me see it.” Brendon said, reaching into a small box beside the sink and pulling a fistful of crumpled purple material from it. Brendon began sliding the rubber gloves on skillfully, barely needing to look to find all five places for his fingers.

The last time Ryan had spent an extended period of time in a hospital, or around the feeling and smell of rubber gloves, was when he was far gone on painkillers, remembering each sensation with scarring clarity. The memory of the friction of the wrinkling rubber over his stitches were enough to still Ryan’s stare on Brendon’s hands. He needed to stop his awful habit of staring, it was going to get him in unexplainable trouble.

“Well, go on then.” Brendon demanded, clapping his hands together. “I only said I’d leave your friends for a few minutes. I’m breaking twenty different kind of rules right now. Let’s go.”

Ryan nodded and heeled his shoe off on the edge of the table. He guided his sock off with hesitation, the frayed knot of gauze easy to catch on the pilling of his socks. The gauze had been yellowed by the inside of Ryan’s shoe, it’s original color revealed as he unraveled it. Ryan balled the gauze in his hand, still without any more at home to replace it. Brendon crouched down to look at Ryan’s foot, the embarrassment of being treated as a patient burning Ryan thoroughly all the way to his curled toes.

“Ryan.” Brendon muttered, his glove ghosting the cut. “This is disgusting.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Fuck you.” Ryan snapped, pulling his foot away from him. “I shouldn’t have let you do this. You and your damn _apology_ line. Why did I—”

“No no! Stop!” Brendon stood and grabbed Ryan’s ankle, pulling him towards him in an attempt to keep him planted on the table. Ryan was suddenly close enough to see the timid freckles visible on Brendon’s face in the florescent light hanging over them. There was a cluster of them dotting his upper lip, the pink color overridden by sandy spots. They gave Brendon’s face depth, softening the sharp shape of his nose and cut of his jaw against his bottomless brown eyes. Ryan was in _such_ trouble now. “That cut looks infected.”

“That’s not possible.” Ryan dismissed his diagnosis with noticeable uncertainty.

“Have you seen what you wrapped it in?” Brendon rebutted. “It’s a walking petri dish. Literally.”

“I didn’t have any more at home, okay?” Ryan pulled his legs up onto the table, trying to twist his foot enough to see the cut. It was a burning red, matching the itch constantly rippling up Ryan’s leg, the scab a dark, brown color instead of a bright red. “Not all of us have a hospital at our disposal.”

“Then let me _give_ you something. Before you have to cut your whole damn foot off.” Brendon placed a hand back on Ryan’s foot, leaning forward and brushing his hair past Ryan’s face. Having a boy leaning over him, face practically in his lap, ideally shouldn’t have involved an infected cut, but Ryan didn’t argue. “I think there’s some glass still in there.”

“I think I would have noticed.” Ryan sighed, unamused by Brendon’s inability to think Ryan had two brain cells to rub together.

“Yeah, it’s called _limping_.” Brendon said, reaching over onto a small cart and picking up a pair of tweezers. The other instruments clanged against the tray, Ryan trying to pull away, but Brendon’s hand was already on his ankle again. “If you move, I’m going to drive this through your foot.” Ryan wasn’t sure if it was a foretelling or a threat; he remained still as Brendon leaned back over him, pricking Ryan’s cut with the sharp ends of the tweezers. “Got it. Here.” He leaned back up and pulled the tray over, tapping the glass out onto the blue paper covering the tray top.

Ryan leaned over, looking at the small brown shard on the tray, shining from a fine coating of blood and puss. Brendon was right; it was disgusting, and Ryan couldn’t feel more embarrassed. Ryan wasn’t the only one looking at the glass, Brendon was still prodding it with the tweezers, trying to recognize it. Not much glass was brown; there was only one real explanation or conclusion to be drawn from it, and Ryan didn’t want to be the first to recognize it.

Brendon took a short breath, the words coming to him in a gust, but not being spoken for another agonizing moment: “This is a piece of a beer bottle.” Ryan had been hoping a Mormon like Brendon wouldn’t have any knowledge to make the connection.

“And when have _you_ ever seen one.” Ryan teased, tucking his foot under his leg. “Pretty sure God says that’s outlawed.”

“There’s a lot of things in this situation that God denounces.” Brendon muttered, turning to rummage through a cabinet.

Nearly every inch of Ryan struggled to remain silent as Brendon muttered something else under his breath, going unheard. The wrongful judgement of Ryan due to misconnected dots were just as unwelcomed as prying questions. Now Ryan appeared to be reckless and uncontrolled, breaking and walking through beer bottles without any regard for his health. If Brendon was already discouraged from staying in his presence from his self-announced atheism, this wasn’t going to convince him to stick around. Not that Ryan thought he _should_.

“I don’t need your judgement, alright?”

“I’m not judging you.” Brendon still had his back to Ryan, but turned to look over his shoulder at him. “Why would I judge you for this. It’s obviously not your fault.”

_Obviously_. Brendon could tell by just looking at the cut for a few seconds, the story spilling out between the slices of skin. Ryan wanted to know where the truth was and how to cover it up and shut it down. Somehow, the bullseye typically painted on Ryan’s back by a six-pack of beers had been revealed in his three inch, newest pending scar. Brendon saw the whole damn story in a moment. It was a piece of glass, it was a limp, it was a snappy answer, and it somehow _wasn’t his fault_.

“T—Thanks.” Ryan whispered, holding his foot back out for Brendon, cotton and bandages in hand.

Brendon dabbed the cotton along the cut, making it burn again, but with far less endurance. He cleaned it delicately, wincing as much as Ryan did. The rubber gloves made less of a terrifying impression as Brendon held his foot, wrapping bandages loosely around it. Brendon used a type that didn’t require any tying or knotting, leaving the raw spot on the top of Ryan’s foot time to recover and heal.

“I have some extra bandages I can give you.” Brendon offered to Ryan, standing close to him again, freckles visible. “If you went home with some, would that be okay or would that make things worse?” Already, concern was distorting his soft features.

“Listen, I’m not in any—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. Just say yes or no.” Brendon placed the bandages in his hands, about to bring his free hands up to Ryan’s mouth.

“It’ll be fine.” Ryan said.

Brendon nodded and left the bandages in his hands, stepping away from the exam table and Ryan. He didn’t ask another question or leave a lingering glance to guilt Ryan. Brendon let Ryan place his shoe back on without another word, checking his watch nonchalantly and without a hurry. Ryan kept waiting for the short intake of breath, the quiet groan that happened before someone could articulate their words correctly, or the preface that they were saying it because they _only care about Ryan_ or that they’re _the_ person Ryan is meant to talk to. Ironically, the silence was painful for Ryan. Words bubbled behind his lips, begging to explain the odd behavior and answers, explain himself rather than let the judgement settle. Unfortunately, smoking wasn’t allowed in hospitals.

“Uh, look, B-Brendon—is it okay that I call you that. I mean, we haven’t really been—” None of the words tumbling out of Ryan’s mouth were the ones he wanted to say. “I mean, I heard it from your friend and you heard my name from mine, so I don’t—What I meant to say was—”

“Brendon’s fine.” He laughed, crossing his arms across his chest loosely. “And you’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Well, maybe you should. One more week and I’d be fitting you for a prosthetic.”

“Don’t act like you did anything life-saving, Brendon.” Ryan sighed, standing from the table. The name fit well amongst the other words, settling into Ryan’s vocabulary at once.

“Hmm, where have I heard that before…” Brendon let his tone drag out as he pulled the exam room door open, gesturing Ryan to go first, limp and all. “Must be from that time I owed my life to this asshole I know.”

Brendon meant it topically, but there were more secrets living in that exam room and between them than Ryan had with the first boy that he had ever been with intimately. There was something dangerous and unreadable about Brendon that Ryan was pretending he hadn’t noticed. He could feel the words forming inside of him, but they weren’t rising up like bile. They were stringing together, clicking together like magnets along his tongue and teeth. Last time he felt that, there were clouds of smoke encasing his head and fluttering around his words. He thought that feeling had been buried, folded along the silk lining of his mother’s coffin. But the feeling was still alive, and for the first time, Ryan remembered he was too.

“You should probably get back to Will’s room.” Ryan dismissed Brendon, trying to separate the magnets with short intakes of breaths between his steps. “I don’t want them to get into any trouble.”

“Right. I should probably send them all out. Will isn’t really supposed to have any visitors for the next two days.” Brendon shrugged the broken rule away, reaching into his pocket as they approached the door separating the main hall from the psych ward. “Especially Gabe.”

“What’s wrong with Gabe?” Ryan stopped just by the door, still respecting his eviction.

“Nothing. Will just isn’t going to want to say goodbye.” Brendon tapped his card against the scanner and opened the door. “In my brief time knowing Will, it’s pretty damn obvious.” Brendon braced the door open on his back.

“Yeah, it is.” Ryan agreed, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe to lean off his left foot. “Sickening, right?”

“If that’s the word you want to use, sure.” Brendon hummed, holding an arm out to motion Ryan back into the wing. Ryan stepped forward hesitantly, Brendon’s laughter slipping through his fingers strangely.

“What does that mean.” Ryan was curious at Brendon’s quick suspicion.

“You don’t think it’s gross.”

“I didn’t say gross, I said _sickening_.” Ryan didn’t want to accidentally to be aligned with a belief-system that held him against his friends, and himself. Ryan wasn’t sure how Brendon’s religion affected his view of Ryan’s friends. “There’s a difference.”

“I know. I just don’t think that’s how you feel.” Brendon walked as slow as Ryan, staying even with him as they inched down the hallway. “I think you’re jealous.”

“I- _What_.” Ryan stopped to stare at Brendon. All his words slinked back down to his stomach, now afraid to surface, Brendon eager to manipulate them. “You’ve know me for a generous total of _maybe_ an hour? Who are you to fucking say that? I- I can’t believe you.”

“That’s just what I’ve observed.” Brendon shrugged innocently, like his words were the beginning of small talk.

“With _what_ evidence?”

“You almost fought me because I was interrupting your friends’ attempt at group-therapy.” Brendon thankfully glossed over Ryan and his near physical altercation. “You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t care a _little_.”

“Why don’t you just immediately assume I have a crush on Will or something?” Ryan demanded, unsure why the most obvious (but still untrue) conclusion wasn’t realized.

Brendon considered the thought for a moment. “No… You’re jealous—and that’s not a bad thing. I just think there’s something about them you want. But I don’t think it’s either of them.”

“What are you? _Clairvoyant_?” Ryan cried, still outraged by the sudden accusation. Brendon couldn’t have _possibly_ seen Ryan staring at their linked hands Friday night, or watched him listen to their conversation on the drive home. He couldn’t have possibly known any of those things. He had to be bluffing, just trying to get Ryan to spill more. Bluffing was typically done with far more smugness though; Brendon sounded casual, like his words carried no weight.

“Just tell me when I’m wrong.” He grinned, walking back towards William’s room.

The door opened before Brendon could reach it, all five boys stepping out into the hallway to surround Brendon. Ryan noted Gabe’s red eyes and the damp spots along his sleeves— and the way his own stomach plummeted of the thought of witnessing a teary and uncertain goodbye. He made sure not to stare.

“Hey, we have a question.” Pete marched up to him, as if he had to stop Brendon from walking much further from his stationary position a foot ahead of Ryan.

“All five of you?”

“What are you doing Saturday night?” Pete continued, missing the playful tone Brendon was using, having noted the puffy eyes on Patrick too.

“Saturday night… Uh, listen, boys. Five guys is a bit much for me.” Brendon laughed, waiting to watch Gabe break a smile and Patrick shake his head with disappointed amusement. He waved his answer away as Pete didn’t seem to understand, far too focused on getting a serious answer. “I’m working, why?”

“Here?”

“Yeah, night shift I think.”

“Great. We’re throwing a Halloween party for Will. Here.” Pete explained, clapping his hands together. “And you’re invited.”

“Invited?” Ryan echoed, walking up to meet the group. His evened his gait and looked as normal as he could. “We don’t _know_ him.” But God did Brendon seem to know Ryan.

“But he does have an ID card that can get us in.” Jon shrugged to Ryan, explaining in far calmer words after Pete’s immediate harsh response telling Ryan to mind his own business.

“I’ll be willing to let you guys in on one condition,” Brendon said, looking to Gabe. “You don’t get me fired.”

“Done.” Gabe nodded hurriedly, his hand reaching out to shake Brendon’s forcefully. “I haven’t had a party busted in five years. No one will even know we’re there.”

“Okay. See you all Saturday then.” Brendon bowed his head in farewell, walking back to William’s room and disappearing through the door.

“Great. Let’s go.” Pete said, waving the group after him. “It’s decided.”

“That was fast.” Ryan hadn’t thought he was gone that long. “What made you decide that? What made you decide to ask the _volunteer_ for help?”

“It was easy. I watched how fast he followed you out that damn door.” Pete muttered, pushing past him. Ryan never thought he could be burned by Pete’s match.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The group was ahead of them, but Ryan still kept his voice down, grabbing Pete to keep him from walking faster than he could. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re blushing.” Pete reached an accusatory finger up to Ryan’s cheek, putting his match out against his skin. “And I’ve seen that look before.”


	4. Always Wearing a Costume

Since Wednesday, Gabe insisted on driving Ryan to and from school; being alone was too weird for him he told Ryan quietly Thursday morning. Ryan wasn’t complaining, considering he was still trying to avoid Pete and the near blowout they could resume now that William was safe. Pete was still trying to forcefully get answers from Ryan about his reluctance to even give them in the first place, and Ryan was still angry that Pete had decided to tell Patrick. Not that Gabe knew he was saving Ryan from any of these things. At least, not that Ryan knew of.

“Guess what.” Gabe said Friday afternoon, Ryan still placing his backpack in the backseat. “Ryan, guess what happened during study hall?”

“I don’t know, Gabe. What.” Ryan got in the passenger seat with fake excitement. He was able to stretch his legs out without a sharp pain in his foot. Maybe Brendon was more than a pretty face. “You’re going to graduate this year.”

“No—we already know I’m graduating, dick.” Gabe sighed, putting the car in reverse. “Will called me.”

“He did?” Ryan knew he had been relieved from the strict watch, but Ryan didn’t think he could make phone calls at his own schedule.

“Well, not really _him_ , but his parents called to tell me something he said.” Gabe said. “But still. I inadvertently spoke to Will and they say he’s doing really well.” Gabe sounded close to tears. A smile was splitting his face nearly in half.

“That’s good.” Ryan wasn’t jealous.

“They’ve started him on medication, actually. So. That’s new.” Gabe said it without any preface, pulling out of the parking spot.

“Shit, really?” Ryan hadn’t expected actual news that afternoon. Thursday morning was just silent and the afternoon was slightly teary eyed as Ryan attempted to ask about Gabe’s day—one that had gone horribly wrong by all accounts, according to the man himself—and that morning had just been Gabe running through the party plans just to hear himself talk. Ryan treaded carefully as he allowed Gabe to unfold the story. “Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gabe shrugged. “If it brings him home and he feels better on it, I am in no place to form an opinion.” Gabe looked at Ryan and he could see that he meant every word. He wasn’t swallowing his pride to be the better boyfriend or trying to sound better in front of Ryan. Gabe was ready to accept this new Will without any fuss, ready to accept the new realities about what it meant to be with him. He accepted the secrets without hesitation.

Ryan hummed in agreement, looking ahead at the road in front of them. In his hands, his phone vibrated once, twice, three times one after another. Ryan unlocked his phone without haste, knowing it was most likely Spencer saying he forgot gym clothes to wash over the weekend or asking for the tenth time to see if he was going to the game that night. Ryan didn’t expect it to be Pete.

_Call me after school. I want to talk to you._

_And no hanging up_

_You have to listen to me_

Ryan tucked his phone back into his pocket without typing a response. He refused to be pulled back in by guilt and skillfully worded texts. Pete got the illusion Ryan was letting him a centimeter closer, but was not allowed to reap the reward. Ryan didn’t want to let Pete in. There was too much to see that could change everything between him and Pete— and between Ryan and the entire friend group. Ryan had decided that Pete didn’t deserve to know anything about him. Just light the match, cigarette unburned and intact, able to be taken to and from Ryan’s pocket to his lips, unchanged and unaltered. Although now, Ryan wasn’t sure what Pete was about to do with that match. He had the ability and motive to burn every inch of Ryan down to the filter and press him under his heel.

“Hey Gabe…”

“Yes, my dear.” Ryan was sure Gabe’s response was a reflex to all car conversations, but he chose to ignore it.

“Do you and Will tell each other… like, _everything_?” Ryan probed, hoping to gain insight.

“Sometimes.” Gabe said. “Other times, we tend to just know without having to say it, honestly.” Ryan knew it; Pete never had any pulse for Ryan, unless he was the one making it race. He always missed by miles each time, thinking intrusion was love. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Ran shrugged it off. If people like Will and Gabe didn’t have to run the regulations of _not hanging up_ , what was the point? Ryan didn’t want to be trapped by Pete, demanding answers. Ryan left that one August evening with a question chasing him out the door, and Pete was never going to hear the answer. If it was a secret that didn’t go down to the Spring Valley cemetery with his mother, it wasn’t going to be handed over to Pete.

“Since when is Ryan Ross curious about anything about my relationship.” Gabe laughed. “Unless, _you_ have somebody!”

“I do not.” Ryan sighed, leaning his head on his hands. “I was just _curious,_ Gabe.”

“You totally do!” Gabe cried, hitting his steering wheel.

“No, Gabe.”

“Who is he?” Ryan never had a train of thought become a blaring siren before, but that afternoon was apparently a beginning to a whole new level of thought.

“Why is it a _he_ all of a sudden?” Ryan shot back, sitting up straight. “Why did you say that?” Ryan slipped his phone back out of his pocket in case Ryan needed to remind Pete just how angry he was about his loose lips. Ryan was irritated by Pete’s hypocrisy of getting angry with Ryan about keeping secrets, even though there were things Ryan still never had an explanation for. If Pete decided to get revenge by talking to the biggest set of lips at Palo Verde, Ryan was going to call him and tear him to shreds right then.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought romantically about a woman in about seven years, Ryan. Cut me some slack here.” Gabe dismissed Ryan’s worry with a laugh and convincing smile. “It can be a _she_. It can be a _they_. It can be whatever you want it to be, man. Just tell me about them. I told you I’m here for you, man.”

“There is _no one_.” Ryan insisted. “There isn’t a damn person in my life that I am telling _anything_ too, Gabe.” Well, that was accidentally too honest instead of defensive. The siren just kept getting louder.

“Alright, sorry I asked.” Gabe muttered. “I should have listened to Pat, jeez.”

Ryan snapped his head back to Gabe. “Patrick? Why Patrick? Why are you asking Patrick about this—about _me_?”

“Because he took that peer mediation class.” Gabe eased the car to a stop at a red light, looking at Ryan with a tight expression. “Calm down, man. It’s not a big deal. I felt bad after we talked on Friday so I asked him how I should approach it… Sorry I was just trying to use _your_ best friend’s best friend to gain better insight on how to make you feel comfortable talking about yourself. _Asshole_.”

“Pete’s not my best friend.” Ryan sifted through Gabe’s sentence, getting down to its skeleton, and breaking its bones immediately. Best friends held no fear towards the other; best friends would listen when the other told them to _stop fucking asking_ ; hell, best friends kissed each other. Gabe and William were best friends. Ryan didn’t have one right now. Band practice made sure to keep his world tightly wrapped around his foot, no secrets showing. Ryan walked a straight line so no one would be the wiser.

“Alright, sorry.” Gabe held his hands up, hushing his tone. “I got carried away. It’s just the first time Will’s been able to talk to me since Wednesday… Sorry.”

The silence that hung between them was untouched, clumsily passed around. It wasn’t like any silence Gabe had with William. Maybe Ryan was just never good with silences, constantly needing to fill them with sentences that only ended up prolonging them or cutting the interaction off entirely. Ryan’s hands fiddled with his phone, hoping it would interrupt the silence before it was Ryan’s turn to clutch it in his inexperienced and rough hands. His phone vibrated again and Ryan fumbled to open it in the least amount of time possible, keeping the silence in Gabe’s possession. It was from Spencer.

_I’m bored. Call me when you get home._

Ryan tapped out his short answer, but was interrupted by another text:

_Also, Pete has been sulking ALL day. What did you do_

Ryan changed his answer quickly: _NOTHING_

_So help me God._

_I will not let the two of you ruin Gabe’s Halloween party with your immortality_

_Immaturity*_

Ryan snorted quietly, his fingers responding: _I think being immortal is exactly what that party needs. I’m probably going to die of boredom. Or at least take my own life_.

Spencer took longer to respond than usual with their banter so Ryan added quickly:

_Sorry. That was insensitive considering our party location. You know what I mean. Love Will always._

_I’ll call though, okay? But only because I know you’re eating a whole burrito yourself._

Spencer didn’t answer before Gabe rolled up to his house, parking and turning the car off. Ryan put his phone back in his pocket and grabbed his backpack without looking at Gabe again, feeling slightly awkward for snapping at his good intentions. Ryan opened the door without looking, wanting to get out of William’s seat as fast as he could. He took off for his house without looking back, his head down and pace far too fast for his aching foot to handle.

“Ryan! Wait!” Gabe rolled down the window and called after Ryan. He stopped in the middle of his still uncut grass, clutching his backpack and pride with white-knuckles. “Drive you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Yeah. I’ll be here.” Ryan said. “Just text me before you get here.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow. Feel… better, I guess.” Gabe held a hand up to Ryan as the window rolled back up. Ryan waved back with his free hand before stomping through the rest of the yard, reaching his front door as Gabe pulled away.

The house was empty, genuinely and blissfully empty. Ryan threw his bag over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen, poking his head in the dining room to check for any overlooked party guests. No one. Not even an empty bottle to mark anyone’s previous visit. Ryan knew his father was out  and would have the house to himself for a few hours; enough time to have phone conversations that were typically whispered, Ryan having to tell Spencer on the other line he was at the public library.

Ryan passed through the kitchen to grab a box of cereal—dinner for the evening once his father came home, and most likely with company. He stuffed the box under his arm as he treaded the stairs, foot pinching as he climbed to the second floor. The bathroom door was still open from when he was passing between it and his bedroom that morning for school. Gabe was far more punctual than Pete, Ryan rushing out the door and stupidly leaving it open, gauze sitting half unraveled on the sink counter.

With shoes off and bag thrown on his bed without much effort, Ryan ducked back into the bathroom, changing his gauze for the night. He sat on the floor, leg folded and resting on his right thigh; phone, gauze, and scissors resting beside him in the plush pink rug. Ryan was half contorted trying to reach the trashcan from his spot on the floor when his phone began to vibrate again—Spencer really was bored.

“Talk to me.” Ryan said, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he finally reached the trashcan. “You caught me at a good time.”

“I was starting to think you’d ignore me for the rest of senior year.”

“Dammit, Pete.” Ryan sighed, prodding his cut, testing how much it had healed. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You just said you were free!” He retorted. “Is your time too precious for me?”

“Pete. I was expecting another call.”

“I bet you were.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Ryan barked. He began wrapping the gauze, careful he wasn’t taking his anger out on his foot; he didn’t need purple toes.

“Nothing. Just more secrets.” Pete made no attempt to lower his voice, although it was a sentence most people uttered under their breath. Phone fights were their specialty. “But that’s nothing new for you.”

“You didn’t call just to get me angry, did you?” Ryan waited for Pete’s answer before he reached for the scissors. “Because I don’t want to be angry anymore, but you are making it _really_ hard.”

“I actually called to apologize.” Pete answered. Ryan was eager to see how this apology would measure up to Ryan’s other recent one. “If you’ll listen for a moment before shutting me out.” Already, he was trying to get under Ryan’s skin. Ever since the first time he placed a hand on it, Pete always had the ability to crawl under it with a few words.

“I’m waiting for the actual part where you apologize for outing me to your friend because you were mad.” Ryan deadpanned, cutting the gauze and splitting the end for the knot.

“I—I didn’t do that.” Pete argued. “I was just talking to Patrick, _my friend_ , about my boyfriend—”

“ _THERE_!” Ryan yelled, pointing across the room as if Pete were in front of him. “Right there. Boyfriend. We never agreed to that. _We_ decided not to use that. Why are you doing this, Pete? We were fine for all of September! What are you doing?”

“I can’t deal with not knowing.”

“I don’t have a good reason why we broke up, Pete. I just—”

“No. Why you wouldn’t answer my question that night. Why you left… I just asked to see it, Ryan. It’s just a scar, right?”

“ _Listen_ , Pete.” Ryan seethed, folding his legs under him to begin standing, trying to get the upper hand in a blind conversation. “ _You_ wouldn’t even kiss me without a good reason, but I never pushed it. I accepted that. I didn’t go running to Spencer bitching about a damn thing, but you have one secret held from you and you run to your friend and tell him all about something we obviously both agreed was to stay between us.” Ryan understated his own shortcomings. “You wouldn’t kiss me and made me feel like…”

The words moistened Ryan’s lips, ready to finally slip past the sewn lips Pete had been cutting open. Ryan never admitted how it felt to exist as just a body, never any part of his face making any difference. The reason was all Pete’s, but it was never shared with Ryan. Ryan feeling strictly like he was visiting the relationship, stepping in for someone Pete cared more about. Ryan never felt comfortable as it was, and then he stared asking questions. Pete requested Ryan to be facing away from him again, again, again, and Ryan would pull his shirt down farther, farther, farther never letting it ride up to show the gruesome history on his back. Pete tried to pull an answer from Ryan, wanting to know the very last thing Ryan was willing to share with another living soul, and didn’t seem to understand that yelling, arguing, and refusal _was_ sort of an answer to his question.

Ryan and Pete had a short affair oscillating for Ryan between blissful and agonizing. Ryan could dodge questions about why they were always at Pete’s house or why he never met Ryan’s parents before, but Ryan couldn’t ignore the question that followed him everywhere, clinging to him like his own shadow. Ryan couldn’t ignore what had happened to him if Pete knew the story to his scar. Pete would disrupt his entire life, trying to know everything—every moment, every conversation, every scar. Intrusion wasn’t love.

Ryan bit his lip and swallowed the words again. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t _have_ to know. I just want to be left alone.”

“You don’t mean that.” Pete said.

He was right, but none of the company being offered to him was the kind Ryan needed. Ryan wanted silence, one he could cradle in his hands, the other person’s hands tightly wrapped around it as well, sharing its burden. Ryan wanted things to slink and tumble out of his mouth without hesitation. He wanted to feel that same safety he felt sitting on the porch rocking chair, covered head to toe in the sticky stench of nicotine and tobacco, stumbling through confessions that his father was too cold to listen to. He wanted his mother to listen to him one last time and tell him how the _hell_ he was supposed to handle boys and their damning, fucking contradiction of being both the best and worst thing to happen to him.

“I have to go, Pete. I’ll see you Saturday.” Ryan hung up before Pete even acknowledged his goodbye.

Ryan stormed to his room, slamming every door behind him and throwing his phone at his bed. It bounced on the mattress and onto the pillow, an inch from sliding down by the wall. Ryan couldn’t believe Pete. He was still hung up on _one_ story Ryan refused to even lie about. Ryan kneeled before Pete, begging and moaning and pleasing, giving every inch of himself in body and in performance and Pete wasn’t satisfied with an answer closer to the truth: silence. He had no outlet anymore and Pete was constantly bombarding him with situations to band aid with lies, and _he_ was angry. The only person who knew Ryan was gay, knew Ryan was scared and timid, knew Ryan’s interests, knew _Ryan,_ was dead and in the ground, and Pete was angry. Ryan was completely and utterly alone in the world and _Pete was angry_.

Ryan sat down to call Spencer, wishing he could call his mom’s house like he used too after getting off the bus in sixth grade, telling her about his day even though she could never answer, her tongue and jaw removed as the cancer spread. It gave Ryan great practice for speaking to her grave. The silence was far easier to handle then, except no matter how familiar it was Ryan was still alone. No one held it with him.

“Hey, Ry!”

“Hey, Spence.” Ryan laid down across his bed, staring up through the skylight. “How’s your burrito?”

“Pretty big, actually.” He paused to chew another bite. “How are you?”

“Pete called.” Ryan said. “He’s mad.”

“Like, _mad_ mad or mad-that-you-wouldn’t-go-down-on-him-that-one-time mad?”

Ryan glared, knowing the pause would convey it to Spencer before his words could. “The first one.”

“About _what_?”

“I’m not even sure.” Ryan lied. “I just want it to stop. I miss when we were friends.” Ryan missed when everything was calm and balanced, him and Spencer hanging out every day after school, Gabe and William always seen together with hearts in their eyes, Pete and Ryan able to trade ideas for satire pieces they’d drop in the school newspaper submission box, all six of them able to hang out without anything hanging over their shoulders, an elephant crumbling the room around them. No mental breakdown, no break ups, no band practice, no scars.

“Maybe you two just need to be in a situation other than school. Maybe this party will help you both actually _talk_ for more than three minutes between classes.” Spencer suggested, his mouth full. “Or you two are in the perfect place to actually rip each other’s throats out.”

“I don’t think Brendon’s very good with any kind of serious surgical repair.” Ryan laughed, thinking of the boy’s soft features sharpening again as Pete and Ryan began a shouting match in a supposed stress-free environment. It was the first thing that came to mind about the party.

“Who?”

“Forget it.” Ryan said. “What time are you getting to the hospital tomorrow?”

“Jon’s coming to get me around four, I think.” Spencer answered, letting the comment slide past. It didn’t seem to be a favor though; Spencer was paying minimal attention as he ate.

“Jon, huh?” Ryan lifted his tone, placing a hand behind his head. “What’s up with that?”

“With what?” Spencer asked, foil crinkling in the receiver after he spoke.

“You and Jon?”

“Friendship? Friendship is happening.” Spencer should have sounded defensive, but instead answered like Ryan was the one being stupid.

“Oh _okay_.”

“Ryan, not everyone is into _boy stuff_.” Spencer sighed, mocking Ryan’s euphemism. “Sometimes band people are straight.”

“White elk, Spence.” Ryan teased. “I’m kidding. I like Jon. He’s quiet.”

“He says the same about you.” Spencer said. “Well, he said that _before_ he saw you nearly kill that volunteer on Wednesday.”

“Of course.”

“I was impressed, if I’m being honest.” Spencer continued. “Typically, you aren’t that forward with cute guys.”

“I threatened him!” Ryan cried. How and _why_ did they assume Ryan was flirting in any way with Brendon? “What does that mean?”

“You saw him cruising you, right?” Spencer laughed. His next sentence was directed to someone beside him, giving Ryan a brief moment to be alone in his own silence.

“What are you talking about?” At this rate, Ryan was going to have to require everyone to supply all evidence or explanations prior to any statements; he wasn’t seeing anything the same way his friends were.

“When we were walking to Will’s room. He kept looking back at you. Jon thought it was to him for a bit until he realized you were behind him.” Spencer explained, still sounding cheerful.

“He was looking at me because prior to Wednesday, we’ve only insulted each other. That was a look of _contempt_.” Ryan defended, scrambling to remember the look Brendon cast over his shoulder. All Ryan could remember were his swinging hips and lifted shoulders. _Fuck_.

“No. He was cruising you, Ryan.”

“Stop using that word! You’re not allowed to use it! Stop!” Ryan cried, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “Everyone is fucking seeing things.” First Brendon, and then Pete and Spencer. Only difference was Brendon was somewhat accurate, but he wasn’t about to wait around for Pete and Spencer to start making sense of things.

“Sorry. Let me rephrase.” Spencer said. “He was trying to fuck you with his eyes.”

“ _SPENCER_!”

“Pete seemed to notice too.”

“I’m gonna hang up if you don’t shut the hell up right now.” Ryan cried, tapping the receiver to make sure Spencer was listening. “I didn’t call to hear about how cute _you_ thought a boy was.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Spencer softened his tone and genuinely apologized. Beyond his voice, the familiar bell on Rojo’s door rang, Spencer on his way back to the school. Spencer was on the long trek back and needed company to pass the time; he wouldn’t want to piss Ryan off much further. “How was Gabe today?”

“Usual.” Ryan said, letting out a long breath. “I mean, the usual Gabe. Talked about Will.”

“Big surprise there.” Spencer mumbled.

“Yeah, right?” Ryan sat up on his bed and folded his legs under him. “OH! Actually, speaking of big surprises. Guess what Gabe told me—” Something creaked loudly below Ryan. He thought it was his bed moving with the shift in his weight, but the timing wasn’t right. Ryan’s words trailed off, traded for the ones spinning in his head.

“What? What did he tell you?” Spencer prodded.

“Uh, hold on.” Ryan stood, creeping up to his door. He lowered the phone to free both ears for investigation. There was another creak in the hard floor downstairs, a bubble of laughter bouncing up the walls. It wasn’t warm, inviting, or familiar. His father was home, and with company. Both could be heard stumbling around, furniture bumping into the walls or falling to the floor. “Spencer, I have to go.”

“What? I said I was sorry about that other thing, Ry. C’mon.” Spencer sighed.

“No, Spencer. I really have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck with the performance.” Ryan hung up and fumbled to turn the phone off. He hit the light switch with his elbow and rushed to his bed, easing down onto the squeaky mattress and hoping to be silent.

As Ryan lay down, he scrambled to remember if he left a trail through the house: lights on, doors open, things out of place. He didn’t want anyone to know he was there. He didn’t think he could face another woman drunkenly stumbling through the house and saying just how much she could see herself living there, even if they never did. They always assumed their place in the house when Ryan constantly had to remind his father that he lived there. His entrance was always a surprise.

“Ryan!” His father was on the stairs. “Ryan, are you here?”

“ _Notherenotherenotherenothere_.” Ryan muttered, placing a hand over his mouth to try and quiet his escalating breathing.

“Do you have a roommate?” The woman asked.

“No. It’s my fucking kid. He’s always in his damn room.” His father’s reply was followed with heavy banging on his door.

“Just leave me _alone_.” Ryan begged to the silence, staring at the door and watching the passing feet by the bottom of the door. “I’m not here.”

“Why’s it matter if he’s here?” She asked, words slurring as they crossed her lips. “He can jus’ cover his ears.”

“Oh God.” Ryan muttered, rolling face first onto his pillow.

He didn’t think the moment would come he would ever wish to hear the walls crumbling with the uncontrollable wrecking ball words coming from his parents as they ripped their marriage down to studs. The house never knew what to do with the foreign giggling and whispering stuck between its walls. It was only used to shouting and shattering glass. The sounds got trapped and haunted every room in the house, trying to find a way out. Ryan’s skylight always happened to be the last stop before it was freed. But before the sounds ever reached him, Ryan got to hold the silence all his own. Not a person to call and talk to, even if they never spoke back. Being lonely was only made worse with the absence of others.

* * *

Ryan wasn’t sure how he fell asleep. His father and his new girlfriend continued to talk, laugh, and do God knows what until the early hours of the next morning. The only thing Ryan had to cover the sound was the grumbling of his stomach. He cursed his choice to pick the food with the noisiest bag. By the time Ryan knew it was safe to begin eating, it was past time for breakfast anyway.

Hangovers were in full swing by then and Ryan was allowed the crinkle of the cereal bag to feed himself. It was as stale as Ryan expected, feeding himself a handful at a time. Ryan had a few hours until Gabe would show up but nothing to do but sit around and wait. With company, Ryan knew better than to try and wake his dad or try and solve the mystery from the night before. He’d have to clean it all up before he could leave that night though, making sure to leave something out for the kids in the neighborhood. Ryan couldn’t leave any children in the neighborhood to unknowingly knock on the door and subject themselves to who was inside. But if the stale cereal in his hand was any indication, there would be nothing in the kitchen to put out for the trick-or-treaters. Ryan would have to make another sign redirecting the kids to Spencer’s house, the known Jackpot for candy combination bags.

Spencer’s mom loved Halloween. Spencer traded trick-or-treating for getting buzzed off Gabe’s odd grab-bag spiked punch and Jackie and Crystal were still of the age to go out, but now went their friends instead of their mother. Ginger Smith enjoyed making Halloween costumes for her kids and even made some for Ryan when his parents started to forget the child they had made in their marriage while they were focused on destroying it. She would always fit Ryan for a superhero costume or an old movie character ensemble, having him stand on a chair in their living room while she asked him short little questions, her hands gently folding and smoothing fabric over his shoulders. Ryan never really spoke much to Ginger, at the time too fearful of other people’s moms since he was still in the middle of experience his own trying to leave.

Ryan didn’t know if his own mother and Ginger were ever friends, but he liked to think they were. He liked to think Ginger had a good image of his mother, having shared their sons and trusted them in the care of the other woman. She was the only person left that could have known his mother in any personal way; his father was not the person to approach about the subject and Ryan’s memories could only reach so far. But even if Ginger did know his mother, she most definitely didn’t know she was dead now. That was a secret skillfully kept by a resentful husband and still-shell shocked middle schooler. The week Ryan took off to go to the funeral upstate was thought to be a mid-year vacation, only Spencer knowing what had happened.

Spencer was still the only one to know about Ryan’s mom. It wasn’t something Ryan liked to lead with, honestly. When he met William and Gabe that first day in the hallway, Gabe was this threatening _giant_ and William was the lanky new kid from Chicago already weird on his own. Ryan didn’t want to appear down and out to the upperclassman and didn’t want to make William feel uncomfortable with his truth without any friends in high school to back Ryan up. Even meeting Pete and Patrick, Ryan thought better than to be too honest about himself. Patrick seemed to be someone with a perfect _everything_ and Pete just didn’t seem like he’d care—which was a laughable assumption at that point. Ryan started high school with a perfect family again, Spencer still in eighth grade and unable to call his bluff. It made living a lie that much easier, and the habit just never broke.

Ryan thought about telling the group often. Thought about explaining his silence during many discussions about family. Thought about explaining his desire to go to the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, his mother’s attempted alma mother—before she got pregnant with Ryan and dropped out. He attended the school for a short time technically, so he thought he should finish his time there, and his mother’s. But, Ryan never told. He never thought anyone would be interested in the sob story told about five years too late.

A fleeting thought made Ryan wonder if that was something someone could tell, just by looking at him. He _did_ know someone with the ability.

“I feel disgusting.” Ryan said only to himself. The silence had been lonely enough, at least now he knew his direct audience was listening to him. He needed a shower before he could be seen in public again. Luckily, the bathroom was right across from his room, the travel taking less than it took to cross Ryan’s room to the door; he snuck into the pink eyesore within seconds, his towel muffling the sound of the doorknob.

He started the water in the shower before undressing, clothes barely on the floor before he was stepping out of them. He slipped the gauze off his foot before stepping into the shower and closing the door behind him. He never liked having an all glass shower. To Ryan, it ruined the entire point of have a shower door at all. If he wanted to feel like he was in the gym locker room, vulnerable and out in the open, he would just stand in front of the mirror and mock himself. Then again, the boys in the shower did get a full view of the scar Ryan was yet to see with anything other than the tips of his fingers. No one said anything about it, but maybe that was a courtesy move. You never make fun of the woman without a jaw or the kid with a deforming scar across most of his back. You pick the smaller things; Ryan’s breakable arms and legs, his long hair, his protruding ribs, but never his jagged scar. Bullies could be generous, apparently. Go figure.

After his shower, Ryan dried off within the minute, having heard creaking down the hall again. He didn’t want to run into his father or his girlfriend half naked and soaking wet. With one hand occupied gripping the towel, he’d have very little to defend himself with when his father realized his son had been there the entire evening, lying to him about being in his room. Ryan locked the door behind him, able to keep the light off as the sun entered the skylight. Once he had at least pants on, he turned his phone back on and waited for the missed calls and texts to come buzzing in.

_6 new messages from Spencer_

_1 missed call from Spencer_

_3 new messages from Peter x_

None of those texts piqued Ryan’s interest and were ignored as he finished getting dressed. Ryan tried to remain remotely festive and picked out a black shirt to appear that he was committed to the Halloween theme. Honestly, it was the only shirt he had washed, but no one would be the wiser. He was sure Pete or Spencer had something far more involved planned, but a simple black shirt was expected of Ryan. Lying below the radar and meeting expectations were Ryan’s forte. As he dried his hair, towel covering most of his vision, he heard his phone vibrate again. Who thought about _him_ first thing in the morning? Spencer was most likely exhausted and still asleep and Pete knew better than to keep pushing his luck hours after a fight. Ryan fumbled around, towel still covering his eyes, to read the name sending him messages: Gabe.

_On my way early. Need you for something_

Ryan had no other choice than to agree to Gabe, trying not to sound suspicious in the two word answer he sent back. He couldn’t think of any expertise he had that Gabe didn’t somehow have himself to warrant the surprise visit. But, Ryan wasn’t going to reject a chance to get out of his house and lower his risk of being caught and potentially scolded before attending a party to cheer up his friend. His hair was dry and hanging as lifelessly as it typically did as Ryan stepped into his shoes. He crept to the door, knowing going quietly would mean going as slowly as possible and getting him to the door just as Gabe pulled up.

“Dude. Major Halloween crisis.” Gabe wasn’t one for preambles anymore, apparently. William must have always been ready for Gabe’s conversations.

“What could it possibly be?” Ryan tried to sound shocked as he got into the passenger seat. He pretended to be looking at his seatbelt and checked to make sure no one stirred in the windows. “It’s barely noon.”

“I have to get Will something for Halloween.”

“It’s not an anniversary, Gabe.”

“No, no. Not a gift. He needs a costume. We can’t all go in dressed up and he’s gets to be a patient all day. Seems a little unfair.” Gabe explained, nearly mocking Ryan for his apparent carelessness.

“Dressed up? Gabe, I’m just in a black shirt. And you just look like a regular person—dressed business casual.” Ryan noted, finally turning back and clicking his seatbelt.

“Speak for yourself. I totally am dressed up. I’m a character from the book William helped me pass a test on junior year.” Gabe said. “Quentin Compson.”

“ _How_ is Will going to get that from a collared shirt, sweater, and some creased khakis?”

“It’s his favorite book. He’ll know.” Gabe seemed irritated with Ryan’s uncertainty, not sure what else Ryan wanted to hear to be convinced. Ryan held his hands up, surrendering his confusion.

“Fine, I believe you. But what are you going to get Will. There isn’t much to partner with your costume… Isn’t he the kid that drowns himself?” Ryan asked. “Because I don’t think that will go well.”

“Nothing that matches. Just something to make him feel like he’s in my living room, mildly tipsy and not in a monitored room, completely alone the minute we leave.” Gabe answered solemnly. “I’ll know when I see it.”

“You just want something fun.” Ryan summarized. “You want to get him something fun. To make him smile.”

“That’s what I said.” Gabe replied, looking at Ryan with another strange glance. Unlike William, Ryan didn’t have any instincts when it came to Gabe’s thought process. If William had been there, their conversation would be finished several times over, William guessing the Halloween Crisis without a moment of hesitation. Ryan felt guilty sitting in William’s seat, wrongfully filling the void created in Gabe’s life at the time. Ryan was not a very good replacement.

The drive remained silent as Gabe drove out of their suburban town and towards the city. Ryan had only been to the heart of Las Vegas a few times, mostly in passing, but it was no surprise Gabe would drive right into it, looking for a gift for William. Granted it wasn’t the main strip itself, but as Gabe parked alongside a costume shop, Ryan could see the flashing signs in the distance.

Gabe went in first, small bell announcing his entrance, and discouraging Ryan’s. The shop was lined with racks of curious materials: feathers, leather, and cheap, chipped sequins. Ryan kept a close distance behind Gabe as they passed other patrons. Each looked surprised to see the two high schoolers wandering the racks, Gabe’s hands running over the different fabrics in interest.

“Gabe, what kind of store did you bring me to.” Ryan hissed, slapping his hand away from a feather boa he was holding with consideration growing on his face. “I refuse to be a part of this.”

“Would you calm down? It’s nothing _weird_ , Ryan.” He rolled his eyes. “You are such a drag sometimes, man. Just let shit happen for once.”

“Fine.” Ryan huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “What are we looking for?”

“I really like this.” Gabe laughed, pulling on the black boa in front of him. “Seems harmless. Kinda funny.”

“Uh, let’s look at something else.” Ryan muttered, pushing Gabe along. He didn’t think the noose-making abilities of a long string of feathers would be welcomed in a psych ward, no matter how morbid the consideration was. “Let’s go over here…”

Ryan led Gabe over to a corner of the shop closer to the door, covered with mostly costumes meant for children. It was the safest area in the store. The man who owned the place followed their track around the store. Ryan was thankful that his eyes seemed to follow Gabe rather than the two of them, Ryan acting as an invisible shadow. Gabe had a pair of cat ears in his hands and a smothered smirk on his face as Ryan leaned against a rack of multicolored bandanas. Ryan was sure that it was meant to be part of any cowboy or robber costume, but a particular one covered in pumpkins seemed a near perfect match with faded blue hospital gowns. Even through the discomfort and annoyance he had been causing that morning, Ryan smiled at the thought of Gabe walking into William’s room, dressed as his favorite character from literature with a new bandana to decorate him for their surprise party. Ryan knew the jealousy would be impossible to keep off his face, but as long as William’s smile had the same effect, Ryan couldn’t really complain.

“Hey Ryan?” Gabe whispered, stepping close to him. Ryan held the bandana out to him, trying his best to read Gabe’s mind. “Do you know that guy?”

“What? Who?” Ryan could only see the shop owner, still ignoring Ryan. “That guy?”

“Yeah. Why is he looking at us?”

“He’s checking you out.” Ryan laughed, amused by Gabe’s sudden confusion.

“How do you know he’s not checking you out?” Gabe seemed to be offended the thought wasn’t considered.

“Because I don’t look like you.” Ryan reasoned, shrugging. It wasn't self-deprecation as much as it was art appreciation.

“Men never look at me.” Gabe muttered, taking the bandana from Ryan’s hand slowly, eventually picking up on Ryan’s mental conversation.

“Because you have Will.” Ryan said. Because he was constantly alerting to the entire world who he was and that he was happy with someone already. He constantly announced he was complete. Ryan obviously didn’t achieve the same look.

“Oh… You’re right.”

“How did you guys _ever_ survive the few months when you moved out of Chicago before Will did?” Ryan was genuinely curious. Gabe seemed irritable and out of sorts without William by his side, or at least in direct communication with him. How did he find someone so like him, so understanding, that when they were apart, things didn’t seem to make sense anymore?

“Called him every night.” Gabe said, twisting the bandanna between his fingers. He stared at it for a long time, Ryan unsure if there was more to the story—Gabe always had more details than _that_. “I miss him, Ry.”

“You’ll see him soon.” Ryan saw tears in his future and had to avoid the reaction as quickly as he could. “After we buy this we can be on our way! You’ll be together within the hour. And with your costume and that—that bandana, you’ll be the smash of the party, Gabe.”

“You ever feel like only _one person_ on the entire Earth knows you, and when they aren’t around, you’re just this _other person_?” Gabe muttered, still looking at the bandana.

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded, folding his arms again. “I feel like that a lot.” Ryan was trying to remember a time when felt whole, rather than void and half-missing. He came up empty-handed. But, he grabbed the bandana from Gabe and didn’t go over as such to the register. Gabe followed close behind, trying to figure out how to navigate the gaze fixed on him even though Ryan was the one at the register. The owner seemed to do everything without looking at his hands, taking Ryan’s last five dollars with one hand with surprising accuracy as he kept looking at Gabe. As change was handed over to Ryan, the bag was handed to Gabe, the man leaning over the counter.

He had tattoos crawling up his neck from under his shirt and had his hair pulled back in a tight bun. Although subtle, he reeked of pot and some unidentifiable musk of either incense or just ash. He looked to be at least mid-twenties, soaring past both Gabe and Ryan’s age by a comfortable margin. His smile was sinful, silent things that Gabe couldn’t read, having never had the look directed at him without a mental connection to fill in the blanks for him. Ryan, on the other hand, had seen the look before, only about three feet off the ground, his hands fiddling with a buckle, and hands tangled in his hair and tugging it back. Ryan wished he didn’t recognize it that easily; of all the secrets he could immediately notice, he wished it hadn’t been _that_. Ryan wasn’t about to explain it to Gabe—hell, he _couldn’t_. As far as Gabe knew, he had never seen any such thing, making him feel isolated and cornered at the shop counter while Ryan tried to pull him along. The owner never met Ryan’s eyes as they left the store, the door and bell slamming after them.

“What was _that_?” Gabe asked, shaking his head.

“It’s just a guy checking you out, Gabe. Why are you so weirded out?” It was Ryan’s turn to be indignant, not understanding Gabe’s hang-up.

“Because that doesn’t happen.” Gabe repeated. “I haven’t had a guy check me out since the Barrington Middle School Spelling Bee when I waved to William from the back row and he _winked_ at me.” Gabe slammed his door as he got in the car. Ryan rushed to climb in and catch the end of Gabe’s sentence.

“It’s okay, Gabe. It’s not like you cheated on Will. It’s just looking.”

“Looking can mean a lot, Ryan. You wouldn’t understand.” Gabe sighed, irritated again. Ryan tried not to disagree, seeing how looking got him into quite a bit of _interesting_ situations last summer and seemed to be doing so at the hospital as well. He nodded and sighed, resigned to pretending for the moment.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Gabe pulled up to the hospital, having taken the scenic route from the city back to their town. Ryan tried to ask what he was doing, but Gabe just kept reiterating that “the kid” said he’d be working that night, and it wasn’t close enough to night time to go in—not yet. Ryan realized Gabe didn’t know Brendon’s name, or had forgotten, but Ryan wasn’t about to admit his guilt and kept up with the conversation about “the kid” and his work schedule.

“When did Spencer say he’d be coming?” Gabe asked, scrolling through his phone for Pete’s contact. “Four, right?”

“That’s when Jon’s getting him.” Ryan responded, almost smiling with relief that Gabe was calling Pete himself.

“Great, that’s perfect timing—Hey! Pete! When are you and Pat getting here?” Gabe said. “Okay, me and Ryan are already here and Spencer should nearly be here. We’ll wait for you.” Of course they’d wait for Pete. Make Ryan have to stand in the parking lot and wait for Pete to reappear after having shouted at him less than twenty-four hours before.

As Gabe hung up with Pete, Jon pulled up beside Ryan’s side of the car. Jon and Ryan rolled down their windows, not wanting to loiter in the parking lot of the hospital until everyone was accounted for. Jon’s car still had music playing and Spencer was chattering over it as the window sank down, Ryan leaning his elbows on the door to talk to them. Jon turned the music down as Spencer leaned forward to speak to Ryan.

“Nice to see you alive and well, Ryan.” Spencer teased. Ryan’s habit of disappearing out of realms of contact were accepted without any question at this point; he wasn’t sure if Spencer was trying to be respectful and leave Ryan alone, or if worrying wasn’t worth the energy. Ryan had the thought that if he _did_ disappear, how long would it take for someone to even notice? “What are you supposed to be today?”

“Happy to be here. What’s your costume?” Ryan sighed, resting his chin on his arms.

“A seventeen year old who had to slip out of the house in order to avoid their mother’s overbearing need to make them a Halloween costume every year.” Spencer said.

“Spot on, right?” Jon laughed, rolling his eyes. “Thought he was just a regular seventeen-year-old.”

“What about you, Gabe?” Spencer asked.

“Bill’s favorite book character.” Gabe answered.

“Of course.” Spencer nodded. “We still waiting for Patrick and Pete?” Spencer looked past Jon and seemed to asked Ryan directly.

“Yes.” Ryan made sure to avoid Jon as he shot a look over to Spencer. “Gabe wants to wait.”

“Right.” Jon nodded, reaching to fiddle with the radio volume again.

There was a twinge of sarcasm in Jon’s voice as he looked away from Ryan. Jon had no reason to question Ryan’s answer. He had no reason to suspect anything. He shouldn’t have known anything. Spencer wouldn’t say anything, Ryan was sure of it. Spencer wasn’t that kind of friend. He kept all secrets to himself, which meant that Jon must have observed it all on his own. Ryan hadn’t been doing any staring though. He had been careful. It wasn’t him.

The music from Jon’s car drifted over to Ryan, removing the silence far too heavy for him to carry alone. It was one of Spencer’s favorite bands, but one that Jon didn’t look like he’d listen to if it was the last thing he’d hear before going deaf. Jon turned the music up staying still while Spencer bopped cheerfully beside him to the music.

“This song came out when I was a junior.” Gabe noted. Ryan couldn’t remember the name of it, but the heavy synthesizer and filtered vocals gave it an intimate sound that was not surprising to associate with Gabe. “Have it on a CD in here, I think.” Gabe reached over Ryan to pull a few of the crystal cases from William’s side of the car. “Here it is!” It was a blank CD with a title written in black sharpie, arcing around the center. It was written in close cursive, obviously, William’s handwriting.

“What’s the theme?”

“Will made it when I first got my car. Just songs to listen to whenever we drove around.” Gabe looked over at Ryan with a lifted eyebrow. “Or parked the car, if you know what I mean.”

“Jesus, Gabe.” Ryan shoved Gabe, the boy breaking out into laughter. “Don’t ruin this song.”

“Not my fault. I didn’t do anything.” Gabe lifted his hands in surrender. “Blame Will.”

“I’ll be sure to do that while he sits in his hospital bed.” Ryan scoffed.

“He’ll be out soon. Just wait.” Gabe shrugged, pushing buttons on his radio as he changed out the CD.

“He is? How do you know?” Ryan thought that an estimated day of William’s discharge would be front page news, leading every conversation with Gabe.

Gabe pushed the CD in and let his hands fall back to his lap. “It’s called hope, Ryan.”

“Right.” Ryan started to wish he had kept the silence, lips sewn shut, wrapped around a cigarette. The smoke would speak for him, or at least keep people far enough away that they never heard his words. “I’m sure he’ll be back before Thanksgiving.”

“I’m hoping he’s home by next weekend.” Gabe admitted. Ryan could see he was starting to get the distant look in his eyes, loss crossing his face just as Pete’s car pulled up a few spots away.

“Let’s go see him now, Gabe. Come on.” Ryan deflected the incoming tears Gabe was no doubt holding back. He wasn’t going to be able to console Gabe if he started. It was better to take him to more capable hands than let Ryan’s fumble with his sniffles and sobs.

Ryan barely waited for Pete’s engine to turn off before he was pushing Gabe towards the front doors, the four others following behind. Patrick hurried to catch up, standing even with Gabe again, his all black outfit looking more professional than _anything_ resembling scary. There was a man at the desk that afternoon, middle-aged and not the least bit pleased by the group of teenagers crowding his desk, hands all smudging his desktop.

“Hi. Do you know if... uh, a volunteer is here tonight?” Gabe asked, trying to recover from his lapse in memory. He still didn’t remember Brendon’s name.

“Nursing students?” The man asked, folding his hands across his keyboard and looking at them with furrowed eyes.

“No. Volunteers. The short one—about this tall on me. _Real_ young looking haircut. Kinda swoops in the front.” Gabe gestured around his side and then his forehead as he tried to build an image of Brendon to the man at the desk. “Is from that Mormon school down the street, I think.”

“Oh! I know who you’re looking for. He’s making rounds, I’ll call him down.” The man swiveled in his chair and grabbed his desk phone.

Gabe tapped the desk nervously, the other boys looking at one another with similar anxiety. Ryan looked at Jon, who shrugged and turned back the man at the desk, before turning to Pete. Pete was already looking at Ryan and looked away the moment their eyes met. They were in too close of a huddle to ask any questions or to bring up any of Ryan’s finer points from their most recent phone conversation. Instead, he let himself find a new face to stare at: Patrick. Who was already looking between the two of them, no doubt completely caught up on the most recent drama. Ryan gave a half-attempted smile and looked back at the man, the phone having been put down.

“He’s already on his way.”

“Thank you very much.” Patrick said as he turned away from Ryan. “We greatly appreciate it.”

“Yeah. Dallon will be down in a second.”

“Wait. Dallon?” Ryan echoed, shouldering up beside Gabe. “Dallon, did you say?”

“Are you deaf?” The guy asked, turning back to his computer. “Dallon is the volunteer on the floor right now. He’ll be _right. down_.”

“What’s the problem?” Gabe asked. “How many Mormon volunteers can there be? It’s gotta be him, right?” Ryan realized he had too much of a back story to explain why he was fully aware of the differences between Brendon and Dallon, and who they were actually about to have walk through the doors. None of them knew Brendon and Ryan had met before, or the instances they had met. And Ryan had no reason to be already be dreading their introduction to Dallon.

“No, I just—I don’t think that’s his name. I don’t think it’s Dallon.” Ryan tried to redirect his argument. “We’d all remember a weird name like that, right?”

“Most people do.” The entire group turned when a new voice entered their conversation: Dallon. “What can I help you boys with?” He stood at the door to the waiting room, hair annoying well sculpted and quaffed. He looked how he did that Saturday morning: pressed shirt, tie, and shined shoes.

Gabe immediately turned to the man sitting at the desk. “I said he was _short_. Like, not tall. Like, smaller than me. _Short_.”

“Uh, is there anything I can do? Regardless of my unsatisfactory height, sir?” Dallon asked, folding his hands in front of himself.

“We’re here to see William Beckett. Room 107.” Spencer cut in, seeing as though Gabe was still staring at the man at the desk, bewildered by his misidentification.

“All of you?”

“If that’s possible. We don’t want him to feel lonely today. Halloween is kind of a thing we do together.” Spencer nodded, placing an arm around Ryan and Jon’s shoulders. Spencer flashed a smile at Dallon, who didn’t seem to be receptive to it.

“I can’t bring all of you. That is a hazard for someone like William. He needs a calm and monitored environment—”

“No, no please. Not this shit again. He’s _fine_. We aren’t going to upset him. We know what we can’t talk about and do. Just let us _in_.” Gabe begged. “Please.”

“I can’t let all of you in.” Dallon repeated. “Now, is there anything else you need?”

“Can you take us to the cafeteria?” Ryan said, stepping forward. “We need some coffee.”

“I do _not_ need—”

“Shut up and follow him.” Ryan said between his teeth, smiling and following after Dallon.

The cafeteria was in the middle of the floor, the group of them having to pass through nearly every hallway and room to get to it. If Brendon was on the floor, he’d see them walking through. If anything, he’d hear Gabe trying to coerce Dallon to reconsider his “hard ass” view on the visitor policy. Dallon led them through the same paths Brendon had, his stride slow but swift. His entire body seemed to bend forward as he walked with force, stomping at the ground in front of him. Already, Ryan could see the ways Brendon and Dallon didn’t get along. And could spot the ways Gabe and him weren’t going to either since Dallon didn’t bother to even politely decline Gabe’s pleas. He just walked them into the near full cafeteria and left them with a cold silence as he turned on his heels to return to his rounds.

Ryan didn’t even have to scan the tables to find Brendon. His eyes fell to the boy without any effort, head bowed over a book resting on a small round table. He was mindlessly twisting the collar of his shirt as he read, his fingers splaying over the fabric repeatedly before sliding up to graze over his neck. Ryan didn’t have any intelligent words, getting everyone to look at Brendon by simply pointing.

“What are you pointing at?” Gabe was disgruntled yet again with Ryan, standing with his back to Brendon as he stepped in front of Ryan’s hand. “First, coffee and now what?”

“Shit, that’s the kid.” Spencer explained, clapping Gabe on the shoulder.

“Will?”

“No. Not Will, you fucking idiot.” Ryan sighed, pushing Gabe around. “The _volunteer_.”

Gabe weaved through the tables with unseen skill, Ryan hearing Jon ask Spencer jokingly if he ever considered track. He stopped at Brendon’s table and grabbed his shoulder harshly. Brendon jumped back against his chair, looking up at Gabe with his wide, curious eyes. His skin was tight over his jaw, lips slightly parted as he tilted his head up to stare up at Gabe with shock and a half sliver of fear. It was an angle and an image Ryan immediately tried to discard before his imagination went anywhere with it. Brendon’s lips curled back into a smile as Gabe spoke to him, the words unheard by Ryan, lost in the distance.

Whatever Gabe said made Brendon laugh. The sound was absent, but his features still relaxed and eased into a look of pure joy. Ryan could hear his laugh echo between his fingers, the tangible warmth tingling them. He was staring, but at least at this point, so was everyone else. After his chorus of laughter stopped, Brendon spoke back to Gabe, rolling his eyes and waving a hand out. A conversation about Dallon, without a doubt. When Brendon stood, he clapped Gabe on the shoulder and began walking away from the table. His swaying stride faltered as his eyes found the group standing huddled by the hallway. Brendon was still smiling, but his eyes had found Ryan’s and he was now the only one staring.

A rough hand shoved his arm and turned him around, facing the hallway again. “Come on. We’re here for _William_.” Pete hissed, pushing Ryan ahead. His hands pressed squarely between Ryan’s shoulder blades and his fingers grazed over the raised scar knowingly. Ryan writhed away from the touch, taking a quick step forward. The tingling in Ryan’s fingers turned to burning heat and sent rippling discomfort through his body. Through his shirt, Pete felt the scar all over again, getting revenge and refusing to let Ryan have his secrets and his privacy, even then.

As much as Pete pushed Ryan to William’s room, the group and Brendon following close behind, the psych hall still required an ID card. Brendon pushed his way to the front, card in hand, and Ryan tried to hide the burning glare Pete was aiming at him. Brendon didn’t seem like he’d be one to let it pass and let Pete sulk in silence.

Brendon led them through the narrowed hallway again, passing a few other people along the way to William’s room; some patients, some doctors. Farther down the hall, Ryan could hear talking, quiet and slow. At least it seemed the people staying in the ward had the ability to walk around and leave the small confines of their room. Which William didn’t seem to enjoy.

“William, you in here?” Brendon opened the door to a dark room. “William?”

“Go away.” William muttered back, his words nearly trying to shut the door over on their own. “I want to go home.”

“I know, I know. Soon though, Will. Just have to check with the doctor, you know that.” Brendon sighed, leaning his head against the doorframe, the door still open at shoulder-width and hiding the other boys. “Might be next week.”

“Really?” Gabe whispered, pulling on Brendon’s arm.

“Yeah, just medicine check-ups.” Brendon answered Gabe shortly, trying not to let William hear the other voices or their nervous shuffling against the floor.

“Who is that?” William sighed. “Is it more nursing students? I don’t want to talk to them anymore. They figured out I took AP Bio and now keep coming in to study for their Boards. Tell them to go away.”

“William, they aren’t nursing students.” Brendon pushed the door the rest of the way open and reached in the room. The light flicked on a moment later, revealing a lump in bed where Ryan expected to see William’s surprised face, grinning again at the sudden appearance of his friends. “I brought your friends.”

“Dr. Worshock is not my friend.” William pulled the blankets further over his head, the blanket falling at the end of the bed as his legs curled up.

Brendon was still the only one in the room, Gabe gripping the doorframe and staring in at William. The rest of them, stood around the opening to the room, holding the door open and wondering if somewhere along their planning they had made a horrible mistake. Maybe they didn’t know who they were really visiting. Spencer stepped forward and pushed Gabe lightly, his feet sliding a few inches before breaking apart to step ahead. He went along the side of William’s bed, placing a hand where they all assumed to be his arm before sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I miss Gabe.” He muttered to the touch. “He always has a Halloween party. And always has the best costumes.”

“Well, thank you.” Gabe answered softly, rubbing circles on William’s arm.

“You have to stop doing this!” William cried, blankets flying back as he stared up at Gabe. It didn’t seem so much as William had been crying under his blankets as he still was, the group still hanging in the doorway, feeling unwelcomed to the moment. Brendon stepped back and leaned against the wall, hands folded and resting against his lap.

They collapsed into each other’s arms like their own weight was too much to handle, and the other was more than willing to carry it for them. Ryan knew that everyone had feigned interest in their shoes or fingernails as they began to kiss, but Ryan found himself unable to look away as a twist sank in his stomach. Reconnection and completion never looked so easy. No wonder Gabe squirmed under the look of the costume shop owner; it was incomparable to the way he looked then: both his and William’s eyes closed and clicking back together in seconds. Even as he grabbed William’s face, his thumb brushed away a stray tear on his cheek. Gabe didn’t even ask what had caused them, but he was there to wipe them away without a single question asked.

Fuck, Ryan _was_ jealous.  The only pair of eyes not looking at their shoes was a brown pair, watching Ryan, knowing exactly what he was seeing and knowing that he had been right. Brendon blinked at Ryan, his eyebrows going up and letting the silence do most of his talking. Ryan tried to let his hands drop it, but the wordless lesson stuck to his fingers.

William and Gabe pulled away and held each other at arms-length, William starting to laugh, a loose tear falling down his cheek. “I like the costume too.”

“We brought one for you too.” Ryan added, the silence sitting like rocks in his throat.

“We did!” Gabe agreed, reaching into his pocket. “As much as the Cute In-Patient look is endearing, I thought this would be nice.” The bandana was already folded as it lay across Gabe’s hand. Besides Ryan, the group stepped forward to see the gift, finally entering William’s room and allowing Brendon to shut the door behind them.

“And I brought booze.” Pete added, pulling a flask from his jacket pocket.

“Jesus, Pete. We’re in a _hospital_.” Patrick cried, slapping his arm. “And we have a person of God _right there_.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. There’s one flask and seven of you.” Brendon said, shrugging. “Not concerned.”

“One flask.” Pete scoffed. “Right. Just one.”

“Thanks for being cool about us having to come and visit Will… uh,” Gabe looked at William, eyebrows furrowed.

“Brendon.” William supplied, tying the bandana around his head. “You forgot his name?”

“Believe it or not, Will, I don’t come here for him.” Gabe teased, placing his arm around William. He adjusted William’s bandana, smoothing the curls in the back of his head, matted from being under blankets all day.

“To be fair, I don’t know most of your names either.” Brendon added. He pulled a plastic chair away from the corner and placed it by the door. He crossed his legs as he sat, arm going around the back and making Brendon look like he wasn’t just looking to become acquainted with the room, but was demanding their names.

William introduced Gabe, although with no need, simply enjoying the chance. Spencer introduced him and Jon as a joined unit, imitating an old ritual between Ryan and him. Patrick introduced himself and shook Brendon’s hand, causing Brendon to ask if he was a part of “the church” too—Pete’s introduction was an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“And—I’m sorry—what’s your name?” Brendon leaned back in his chair, nearly gazing through Ryan as he asked.

“Ryan. It’s Ryan.”

“Ryan.” He echoed, his lips wrapping around the word slowly. His stare was intimidating and flustering, biting his lip to smother the smirk pulling at them. “Pleasure.” He nodded at them, lowering his head to look at his book now open on his lap.

“Now that we’re all acquainted.” Pete grumbled, glaring at Brendon. “Who wants the first sip? Never mind, it’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forth chapter, but only the beginning! I am really excited for what I have next week for you! All the Brendon you could ever want.  
> Don't forget to comment or find me on tumblr (@breakfastbeebo). Curious where you THINK it's going.


	5. Sinking Ships

Ryan was sitting at the end of William’s bed, both Gabe and William’s feet resting on his crossed legs. Spencer had moved the vase of flowers from the side table to make a seat; Pete pulled up a plastic chair to Ryan’s left, sitting on it backwards; Patrick was standing behind Pete, elbows jokingly resting on his head; Jon was leaning against the wall, flask in hand and observing them. Their somber and cautious mood from seeing William distraught and in tears faded quickly as they began reminiscing on their past years of friendship. Ryan still wasn’t sure how they all somehow got together into one tight bunch.

“Wait wait, I’ve got one. Does anyone remember that first day Pete got his license?” Gabe asked, already laughing.

“Oh, God.” He groaned. “So I parked _a foot_ from the curb. It’s not as bad as William’s first driving exam.”

“I cried behind the wheel.” William argued, swatting away Gabe’s agreement. “That’s _totally_ different.”

“You missed a stop sign!”

“Because I was _crying_!” William stuck his foot out to jab Pete’s arm, trying to convince him of his point. “I’m a good driver.”

“Right.” Gabe nodded. “That’s why you have _me_ drive you everywhere.”

“ _No_. That’s because you are awful with directions and need my sense of direction.” He held a finger up, silencing Gabe. “Spring break, junior year. Driving to Pete’s after our flight back from Chicago. I fell asleep on the drive back so we arrived at nearly _midnight_ because you got lost and almost drove to Arizona.”

“ _That’s_ what happened?” Patrick cried, covering his mouth. “We all assumed… much worse.”

“We thought you guys got detained at the airport.” Spencer admitted, poking William’s back. “For public indecency.” William gasped at the accusation, shoving Spencer lightly. “What were we supposed to think? We haven’t seen you late for anything since we’ve known you.” Spencer laughed, tugging William’s bandana over his eyes.

“Excuse me. After-After Prom, last year?” Ryan corrected, jabbing William’s toes, eyebrows raised. Truthfully, Ryan and Pete had been late to that as well, getting caught up on the drive home, breathing heavy and hands straining on dashboards and steering wheels, trying not to touch the other. But as long as Gabe and William were the latest, their tardiness went unnoticed. If Ryan didn’t know any better, he would have missed Pete’s uncomfortable shift in his chair. “You both were _very_ late to Patrick’s house. And you both have been to his house many times. So directions weren’t a problem.”

“We dropped our suits off at my house.” William argued, pulling the bandana back to glare at Ryan for seeing through the lie. Ryan knew what to look for; he had acquired the skill quickly on his own. “…And my parents just happened to be out.”

“Knew it!” Ryan laughed, clapping his hands. “I knew it.”

“You’d know the look of guilt, wouldn’t you?” Pete muttered, leaning back in his chair and pushing Patrick away. Ryan tried not to look at Pete too suddenly, glaring at him and all the words he silenced over the phone bubbling on his lips again. Spencer was right, if there was anywhere for Ryan to finally rip Pete apart, it should be in a hospital. Highest rate of survival at that point.

“You know what—”

“I think we better go, Pat. It’s getting kind of late.” Pete said, standing from his chair. “I think there’s that campy movie marathon on at midnight.”

“Oh, okay.” Patrick nodded, eyeing Ryan with sympathy. “Nice to see you again, Will. You’ll be home soon.”

“Thanks, guys.” William reached forward to squeeze Patrick’s hand. He leaned his head against Gabe’s shoulder, waving to Pete and Patrick as they collected their things to leave. Pete took the flask from Jon roughly, taking a long swig before shoving it back down the front of his pants. He never offered Ryan a drink, but knew it was more out of spite than actual polite observation. “You’re driving right, Patrick?”

“Of course.” Patrick assured him. “Don’t worry about us.” He waved again before saying his goodbyes to Brendon at the door and exiting.

“I suppose we should get a move on too, Jon.” Spencer waved his friend away from the wall and towards the door. He shot Ryan a smug look, and Ryan wasn’t sure what he was trying to insinuate he was leaving to do. Until he left Ryan alone with only the happy couple _and Brendon_. Spencer was insinuating what Ryan was going to do upon Spencer’s leaving. The fucking _nerve_.

Of fucking course Ryan was sitting on the foot of their bed, unable to change seating without suggesting that Gabe should leave and drive him home, but couldn’t very well just sit there. William was beginning to fall asleep on Gabe’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other and knees touching.

“Maybe we should give you two a minute.” Brendon suggested, standing from his seat. “Ryan, we can go get you coffee or something.” Ryan nodded quickly, sliding off the bed and shuffling his left foot as he rushed to the door.

“Thanks.” Ryan muttered, trying to mirror Brendon’s stride, trying to figure out how he seemed to float everywhere, his steps announcing his presence with unchallenged softness. “Didn’t want to sit there the whole time.”

“Figured.” He said. Brendon didn’t have to say much more, Ryan knew what he saw from his seat by the door.

Brendon led Ryan back down the familiar main hallway, but waved Ryan down a crowded side-hall, supply carts stretching to the ceiling and framing the pathway. The lighting was less bright, obviously only seeing rare traffic during the day hours. Ryan peeked into some of the colored crates; he was running low on gauze, as Brendon probably knew. Ryan had his peripherals locked on Brendon as he searched, following his figure swaying in front of him.

“Ryan, would you think less of me if—”

“I don’t think anything of you.” Ryan answered, seeing uncertainty lower Brendon’s eyes to his trembling hands twisting in front of him. He was slowing down, stopping to place a hand on the cart to adjust a box of rubber gloves. He thought anonymity would cure the drop in his voice. Ryan’s voice was sarcastic and Brendon seemed hurt by the dejection. “I just mean—I don’t really have a solid enough opinion. Like, we don’t really _know_ each other. Like—you know, you just— well, you kinda do. But.” Ryan was stopped by Brendon’s growing smile. “Yeah.”

“I had a nice time being with you and your friends.”

“You just read the whole time.” Ryan said, starting to walk again.

“I listened though.” Brendon said. “It’s never a dull day for you guys.”

“No offense, but I feel like a Mormon’s life is very boring.” Ryan muttered, shrugging.

“Fair enough.” Brendon laughed. “I don’t follow a lot of those restrictions though.” His voice dropped again, as if the volume of his sentence would reveal something to the empty hallway.

“Oh yeah?” Ryan nodded, not sure if he was supposed to ask or just accept the information Brendon shared with him. “Pretty edgy for someone who doesn’t like to fight people, huh?”

“That’s…. That has nothing to do with being a Mormon.” Brendon shook his head and stopped again. “That’s something else… I just don’t follow the restrictions because I don’t believe half of that shit.”

“And what half is that?”

“Pretty much any and all parts that try to convince everyone I should be fenced up somewhere, being electrocuted into being normal.” Brendon started walking again, like he was storming away from the sentence. Ryan tried to chase after the best he could, his foot beginning to sting again.

“I don’t understand.” Ryan admitted, placing a hand on his arm for a moment, only to tear it away as Brendon looked at it. Brendon looked from Ryan’s hand to his eyes with hesitation, not sure if his eyes would say far more than his mouth would. He chewed his lip before staring at Ryan.

“You do know I’m gay… don’t you?” Ryan wasn’t sure if the inklings he had about Brendon being gay had just been registered in his mind as another confirmation that he was just finding himself very attracted to Brendon. But if he didn’t know before, well he definitely knew then.

“Uh, well…” And from Ryan’s lack of word, Brendon was probably figuring it out about Ryan too. He abandoned all attempts to explain himself and just nodded, looking ahead of them. Brendon’s figure shrank beside Ryan, his pace slowing and Ryan pulling away from him. “What?”

“I- can we talk for a second? I want to tell you something… Just—no life saving or macho tactics. Just let me talk.” Brendon had slowed down and stopped by a door. Ryan wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go through it, if he was supposed to initiate this behavior, this openness for another person. Typically, this happened standing at Ryan’s front door, his mother propping the door open with her back as she lit a cigarette, hand cupped around the flame. Brendon was fiddling with the doorknob, looking at Ryan for approval to isolate themselves and let their conversations go unheard again. To let the secrets remain secrets to everyone but each other.

“Sure.” Ryan said. “Yeah. I have a second.”

Brendon had invited Ryan into a room with other tall racks and carts of supplies. It had one bright bulb hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the floor and casting jagged shadows around them. The shadows looked like they had seen enough secrets, enough hiding, enough desperation to make Brendon and Ryan not completely alone in the room once the door was shut. Ryan sat on a tall box of IV bags and let Brendon find his own way in the silence. He tried his hardest not to drop it.

“Have you ever read the book _Invisible Monsters_?” He asked, stepping away from the door. “I-It’s what I was reading tonight.”

“No.” Ryan shook his head and crossed his ankles. “Never heard of it.”

“Well, long story short, this woman loses her ability to speak... Her jaw is shot off. So she communicates writing and staring at people. Just looks.”

“Okay. What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan wasn’t sure where the confession was. “Looking can mean a lot.” Ryan echoed Gabe’s advice, even though Brendon wasn’t looking at him.

“Well… part of me really wishes I had that kind of life.” Brendon admitted, taking a step forward. A step towards Ryan. The light hovered directly over the two of them, Brendon’s eyes somehow growing darker in the light and teeth peeking over his bottom lip as he bit it. Ryan wasn’t able to even look at his eyes, and not for one second did he care. Let the staring get him in trouble. “I also wish I had your friend’s life.”

“Which friend is that…” Ryan asked, still studying his lips.

“Pete. He stared at you all night. And didn’t even try to look away.” Brendon answered, his head tipping to the side as he kept his eyes on Ryan’s.

“He did?” Ryan hadn’t noticed. Which might have meant someone else noticed too. Brendon had, and here he was, inching closer.

“And now _I’m_ the one who’s jealous.” Brendon whispered, the freckles rushing back into view and Ryan scrambling for words. He didn’t need a cigarette at that moment. He needed words. He needed to _stop_ Brendon. He looked shy, he looked vulnerable, he looked _beautiful_.

“I—I’m not… what you’re thinking.” Ryan fumbled with his words, not even trying to aim them.

“I didn’t ask if you were.” Brendon spoke softly, his words circling Ryan like a ring of smoke. “All I’m going to ask is, if I got any closer, would you back away?”

Ryan breathed slowly, taking in the words circling around him. They were sure to strangle him, swelling in his chest the moment he answered Brendon. If it was going to kill him, the hospital _was_ the best place. Ryan had no reason to refuse.

“No. I wouldn’t.” Brendon’s lips were slick as he bit them again, his teeth scraping over them agonizingly slow. His lips fascinated Ryan, the way they were freckled, the way they dipped and curved perfectly, the way his bottom lip swelled and was nearly in a pout constantly. He wanted to know more than anything what they felt like. Lips on his, a mouth shifting and sliding over his own. The brush of a tongue against his lip.

“You are annoyingly good-looking, you know that right?” Brendon muttered, his lips remaining parted and eyes falling onto Ryan’s. “Such an asshole but also so fucking hot.”

“I—I don’t, you don’t have to—Well…” Ryan sputtered over the compliment, words never coming back to him fast enough to participate in this kind of talk. Pete just kind of accepted he wasn’t a talker—or at least thought he was good enough to always make Ryan speechless. “That’s not very Mormon of you.”

“Which part?” Brendon laughed, placing an experimental hand on Ryan’s leg. “The part where I’m gay or the part where I’m trying _not_ to kiss you.”

Brendon was so confident and upfront about himself, about his sexuality. He was out and he saw something in Ryan or about Ryan that lead him to believe that smooth talking him would lead to this exact situation. Kissing Brendon would say more by his definitions than Ryan’s. He’d be marked immediately, his scarlet lips and cheeks ruining everything he built up around him. A kiss would ruin everything. A kiss was something he never did and no one ever figured anything out about him and Pete. A kiss would be a trap, a blinking neon sign. Gabe and William kissed, Ryan did not. He didn’t have that. He wasn’t supposed to.

“Wait, don’t.” Ryan muttered, turning his face away from Brendon. “I have something better.”

“What.” Brendon blinked.

Apparently, Ryan stepped far beyond Mormon ideologies as he tugged on Brendon’s belt buckle. His mind was on fire, unsure of how to express the curiosity stirring inside him. Brendon was _attracted_ to him—and nothing could deny that Ryan was too. He could feel his chest tightening and warmth slipping down his stomach. Brendon had this planned from the minute Ryan saved his damn life. Brendon had been sweet taking Ryan with playful winks, casted glances, and attentive medical attention. Brendon was already ready to kiss Ryan without any conversation or discussion. But, he was also telling Ryan that it required no confessional. Ryan didn’t know what to do when someone wasn’t asking him favors or questions, so he did the first thing he could think of. What always shut Pete up.

“Ryan, what are you doing.” Ryan ignored him and pulled on his belt. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t _want_ you to do this.”

“It’s fine. Really.” It wasn’t. It really wasn’t, but Ryan was already on a lying streak. He only lied when he was on his knees; made the whole charade end sooner.

“No, Ryan. I don’t want you to.” Brendon placed a hand over Ryan’s to still it. “If you aren’t gay, t-that’s okay. I wasn’t asking you to do that.” Ryan was self-destructing under his own dazed confusion and Brendon seemed to blame himself, apologizing for making it seem that was what he wanted.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Ryan blinked himself back to coherence, his stomach still warm but now churning uncomfortably.

“What?” Brendon said, leaning down and kneeling in front of Ryan. “That doesn’t make sense.” Of course it didn’t. Nothing in Ryan’s life was in any form of logical or concrete order. He had a ghost mother, kept alive by the white lies he told to his friends, and a soon-to-be ghost father, drinking himself to death but trying to make sure Ryan got there first by using him as a bulls eye for bottles and cigarette butts. “You’ve never kissed anyone. So you just—”

God, Ryan felt ridiculous. What a _slut_. Pete was right. “I should go.”

“Hey, wait. _Ryan!_ ” Brendon scrambled to grab Ryan’s hand, missing as he pushed past the door again. He couldn’t remember what way Brendon had taken him, but he just knew he couldn’t stop walking. “Ryan, please just wait!”

“Please leave me alone.” Ryan said. “I don’t want to hear your lecture.”

“I don’t have a lecture.” Brendon was out of breath, closing in on Ryan as uncertainty slowed him down. He grabbed Ryan’s shoulder. “Just—if you’ve never kissed someone….” Brendon sighed slowly, looking behind Ryan at the still-empty hallway. “How do you know you wanted to kiss me?” The question had never been asked before. A question regarding _Ryan_ and not his past or his actions, but his internal self. The Ryan that literally only he, himself, knew. And Brendon was the first one to inquire about him.

“Why do you care?” Ryan sighed. “Why is _that_ what you care about? Don’t you want to humiliate me or pretending you didn’t just try to kiss _me_ , the single most disgusting and—” Brendon’s hand were already on Ryan’s face.

“You do know I _am_ going to kiss you.” His lips were so close Ryan nearly couldn’t see them. “You just tell me to stop.”

The freckles were gone, the plump lips were hidden under his nose, and all he could stare into were his slowly closing brown eyes. Ryan clenched his eyes closed as if being in the complete dark would render him invisible from his own embarrassment. He had no expectations, no ideas, no conscious feeling of any type. He was completely numb and unsure how his day had brought him to that point, moments from kissing the boy he found about to get beaten up in his high school’s locker room. The same one that had claimed he didn’t have time for him was about to give Ryan answers that Pete was never brave enough to give.

Brendon pulled Ryan towards him, his hands guiding Ryan’s face to his own gently, showing Ryan where he would slot against his lips, how his nose would miss Brendon’s as he tilted his head curiously to the side. Ryan didn’t know what to do with his own hands and let them hang by his sides. Brendon’s freckled lips finally pressed against his own with barely enough pressure to let Ryan know he was there. He was a ghost hovering over his lips, a phantom of everything Ryan thought was wrong with him, the thing that disgusted Pete. Brendon was kissing Ryan in the middle of a hospital hallway, unafraid and unwavering of any eyes that could catch them.

The thought sent enough fear into Ryan to send him staggering backwards, Brendon’s arm stretching outward as he still held Ryan’s face. Any eyes could have seen them. Anyone could have seen Ryan’s biggest secret; it could now begin to run rampant. It could run all the way to his father’s house and kick down the door.

“What’s wrong?” Brendon asked, dropping his hands but stepping closer to enclose their conversation. “I’m sorry.”

“Someone could have seen us.” Ryan said, stepping back and continuing down the hall. “Anyone could have seen us.”

“No one did. It’s just a supply hallway.”

“You don’t know that.” Ryan argued. “You don’t know that! You don’t know who could have seen us.”

Brendon swallowed his argument and followed after Ryan. “Okay. You’re right. Let’s go back to get your friends.” Ryan was waiting for the disappointment, the passive acknowledgement that Ryan wasn’t giving him what he wanted.

“I just don’t want—I don’t know who’s here… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Brendon looked at Ryan, perplexed and confused. “I understand. I just wish I had thought of that. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Ryan grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving their kiss behind them. “You didn’t.” Another secret slipped out without Ryan even noticing, ending it with a lop-sided smile. “You really didn’t.” If they had stayed in that supply room, door closed and apart from the rest of the world, Ryan might still have been kissing Brendon. He wouldn’t have been ashamed. He wouldn’t have touched Brendon only to push him away. Fuck, Ryan probably would have been able to enjoy it. Everything he was denied, everything he was made to feel. Everything he was forced to suppress and think was fundamentally wrong with _him_ rather than the person denying him the answers. There was something fluttering in Ryan’s chest, spreading warmth up to his aching cheeks, still smiling.

“Really?” Brendon seemed bashful by the remark. “First kiss wasn’t that bad?”

Ryan decided to tell the truth. “Not that bad. For a Mormon.”

“Shut up and keep walking.” Brendon laughed, grabbing Ryan’s arm and pulling him forward. Ryan watched him go for his hand, but abandon it in favor of a more platonic touch. Holding hands and rushing down a hallway was even more incriminating than being caught chastely kissing in a supply hall. They couldn’t walk up to William’s room hand in hand, or even pretending that they weren’t. Ryan was a great liar, but didn’t know how good Brendon was and didn’t want to test it at a crucial moment. Especially when Ryan’s plan was to act as if nothing happened and he still despised Brendon in every conceivable way.

When they arrived back at William’s room, Brendon reached for the door first, already opening it as if Ryan wasn’t there and planning to go in behind him. He didn’t hold the door although Ryan was less than a foot behind him, his hand scrambling out to slap against the door. As he yanked the door open, Ryan nearly ran into Brendon, standing at the door, staring at William’s bed. It was nearly how they left it, William and Gabe in each other’s arms, except Gabe now had his arms around William, trying to shake him awake.

“Will? Will, wake up! Will—What’s happening?” He turned to Brendon, still frozen in the doorway. His eyes were wide and honest. Panic was scarring his face and he sounded shaken to pieces. “He’s out. What happened!”

“Okay. Okay. When did this happen?” Brendon walked over to Gabe quickly but calmly, trying to have enough composure for the both of them.

“A few minutes ago. He started feeling tired so we were lying down. He was fine. He was _fine_. We were just lying down when he started to say that he felt really light-headed and dizzy… I thought maybe he was just having another panic thing or—or something, so I just tried to soothe him. But… but then he just passed out!” Gabe had stepped back from the bed, hands running through his hair as Brendon took his place, feeling William’s wrists for a strong pulse and checking his pupil dilation. Both seemed to put Gabe farther on edge; he only saw that on doctor shows when someone is inching towards death one frantic sentence at a time.

“You did the right thing.” Brendon assured Gabe, the line rehearsed but sincere. “This is just medication side effects.”

“How can you say that? I did nothing. I—I was useless! I couldn’t help him!” Gabe argued, as if trying to pick a fight. “Where the fuck were you two? I—I shouldn’t have been left alone with him! You _knew_ this was going to happen!”

“Gabe, now come on. You didn’t hurt him.” Ryan tried to calm Gabe down before any accusations started being thrown around. Or anyone heard him yelling. The minute Ryan and Brendon needed an excuse and became each other’s alibi the more things would become complicated. They’d have to start lying for and with each other. Ryan preferred to work alone.

“I’ll call the doctor on call. Everything is fine, Gabe.” Brendon tried to convince him but did to no avail. William was asleep, although looked far too out of it to seem peaceful. His head was lolled to one side, having been resting against a shoulder that was no longer there, and his arms were spread by his sides like he had let go of Gabe just as he let go of consciousness.

Gabe began to pace the room as Brendon grabbed the phone hanging above William’s bed, turning away from them to have his conversation. Ryan was left in silence without any words to use. Gabe was already in tears, Ryan knew what was wrong, but still had no way to comfort him. Hell, Ryan was half the reason no one was there to help William right away. He was too busy flirting with Brendon to get him back to the room in time. Ryan _let_ Brendon kiss him. He caused the distraction. He caused this scene. Letting someone close to him, letting someone kiss him, ended up being a disaster on everyone’s hands. Ryan didn’t want Pete to be right. He didn’t want to admit he should have pushed Brendon away, lied that he wasn’t interested. Ryan didn’t want to feel regret because the first time he let honesty guide him, it risked the well being of his friend. Why did the truth have to be so destructive?

“What if he’s really sick, Ryan? What am I supposed to fucking _do_?” Gabe cried, beginning to openly sob, gasping for air as the words shot out faster than he was ever ready to speak.

“H—He’s not sick, Gabe. He just got light-headed. That’s not a life-or-death thing.” Ryan said, touching his shoulder.

“Thanks, Ryan.” Gabe scoffed, shouldering his hand off. “I said today how much I _miss_ him and open the fuck up and all you have to say is that he might not _die_?” Ryan’s clumsy comfort had always been expected and excused, but Gabe was forcing guilt and consequences at him with red, blood-shot eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that… I’m sorry.” Ryan stumbled, trying to lower their conversation from traveling through Brendon’s phone call. “I was just trying to help.” Ryan was indignant, not sure how suddenly it was his fault. It was obviously Brendon’s. With his stupid pickup lines with book summaries, his bashful blushing, his fucking _lips_. It’s his fault.

Gabe whipped around to face Ryan, ready to rebut the tone he had accidentally thrown at him. Ryan was sure he would be in his old hospital room, old scars busted back open if the door hadn’t opened, a doctor and Dallon walking in and pushing them aside. The doctor and Brendon conversed quickly before he was pulled off by the shirt sleeve by Dallon. Dallon mirrored Gabe’s expression, boiling with rage and shoving Brendon out the door with one hand while slamming it closed with the other.

Even through the closed the door, Ryan and Gabe could hear the shouting match erupting in the otherwise silent hallway. Gabe had turned his attention back to the doctors and William and left Ryan to hover outside the door, trying to decide where he was the most useful. He knew what to do in the face of undeserved shouting, but he knew that would help no one.

“Dallon, listen.”

“No. Listen here, you _punk_. You are here on a _very_ short string. You don’t want to go on your _mandatory_ mission, so you’re biding your time here. And that only works if you _do. your. job._ ”

“I _was_.”

“No. If you were, you would have been there and called _before_ that kid passed out. Where _were_ you?”

“I was just out. For a minute.”

“Where. What was more important than your God given _job_ to take care of these sick patients?”

“Bill isn’t sick.”

“This isn’t about your faux friends. Don’t change the subject, Urie. Where were you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“The hospital has cameras in every hallway, so by all means of safety and regulations, yes, it is my business, Brendon. So either you tell me or I found out for myself the exact reason I’ll be firing you and hanging you up by your godforsaken long hair and letting your parents know that you _should_ be on the next darn flight to your  mission—”

Ryan yanked the door open before Dallon had the breath to finish his threat. Ryan walked out into them as if he hadn’t just heard Dallon hold himself back from abandoning his faith and beating Brendon to a pulp on the spot right there.

Ryan ran right into Brendon, his hand grabbing his as he pretending to regain his balance. “Oh! Sorry! I was looking for you!” Brendon turned his gaze to focus on Ryan, trying to shrink him down to size instead of Dallon. “Thank you so much for your help. God, I feel so embarrassed I get lost so easily. I am _the worst_ with directions, I tell you.” He laughed at himself, trying to charm Dallon with his fake stupidity. Ryan wasn’t sure if masculine charm would even work on Dallon, but it was worth a shot. “Thank you for not saying anything to my friends.” Ryan tried to leave the lie with enough strings for Brendon and Dallon to tie up together on their own.

“No problem. It’s my job.” Brendon said, nodding. If _only_ what Brendon did was his job. Ryan wouldn’t think a hospital was such a bad place after all.

“You. You were with him.” Dallon pointed at Ryan with the same finger he waved around at any person that wasn’t himself.

“I’m the reason he was out of the room.” Ryan stated. Whether or not Ryan knew it when he first walked out of the room, the time they spent alone was exactly why Brendon invited him out. He knew exactly what he was doing the moment he told them he’d be working the night shift. Ryan was the reason.

“He just needed directions. I was gone for a _second_.” Brendon started pleading with Dallon; if Ryan didn’t know any better, he’d start believing Brendon too. “We couldn’t have someone wandering around this wing, Dallon. That’s worse than me leaving Will’s room. At least he wasn’t alone. And he’s _safe_ now.”

“Don’t you dare try to make me into the bad guy because I’m angry you didn’t do your job!” Dallon redirected his finger to nearly poke Brendon in the chest. “Because I heard from Dr. Worshock William has been sleeping all day? Fatigue is another side effect and you said _nothing_.” Ryan wanted to step back and let the door close their conversation off again, Gabe being able to hear Dallon’s accusations clearly.

“He’s stuck in a hospital, Dallon. He’s _upset_.” Brendon slapped Dallon’s hand away. Ryan wasn’t sure if Brendon was angry at Dallon’s attitude, or was genuinely defending William. “The guy that’s always here?” Brendon pointed at Gabe, still hovering over William. “He’s the only freaking visitor William has besides his damn parents. Sometimes, people just want to see their boyfriend.” Dallon winced and clenched his jaw, peering in the room and through Ryan.

“I thought the parents said they didn’t want him in there.” He hissed.

“Well, I made an executive decision that those parents don’t have his best interests in mind.” Brendon replied with a certainty that startled Ryan. Brendon was openly admitting that he was disobeying the orders of William’s parents because he thought having Gabe with William was better for both of them. Brendon saw Ryan’s jealousy, but also understood it as well, letting the two of them together because keeping them apart was obviously causing an unbalance in them both.

“You don’t have the power to do that.” Dallon said lowly, eyeing Ryan, knowing he wasn’t really supposed to be hearing it.

“Will has fast tracked to being able to go home for home observation and out-patient care. Do you ever fucking wonder _why—_ ” Brendon’s explanation of logic was cut off as Dallon’s pointing hand came whipping back to Brendon, slapping him.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” Ryan swore he was having an out of body experience, watching the scene unfold in front of him rather than happening to him. “Go help the nurses with charts until I’m done in here, Urie.”

“Fine.” Brendon caved immediately, turning and walking off without even a glance in Ryan’s direction. He knew that shame all too well.

Dallon pushed past Ryan and walked over to the doctor, helping him as they pulled an oxygen mask over William’s face and monitored his heart rate. Ryan knew very little about how the human body worked—William was the only one who had taken AP Bio—but no one seemed worried or frantic. Gabe was still staring at William with wide eyes, trying to stay out of the way and trying not to intervene. As Ryan walked over to him, he didn’t turn to glare at him or shove him away. Gabe reached over and grabbed Ryan’s hand, squeezing it in his own with a grip Ryan couldn’t escape from if he tried. Ryan squeezed back.

“He’s okay, Gabe. He’s okay.” Ryan muttered. “They haven’t asked you to leave, so obviously everything is okay.”

“Right. You’re right. They always ask people to leave if it gets bad. He’s fine. Right? Totally fine. Just a little tired. He’s fine. Fine. You’re right.” Gabe kept nodding even though his voice sounded as if he should have been shaking it.

“Are you though, Gabe?” Ryan asked. “You don’t sound it.” Was this the reason William’s parents didn’t want them to see each other in the hospital? This had to be it. The Becketts would never try to separate them. They must know better. Six years isn’t separable by a loose visitor regulation. Ryan couldn’t imagine it was malicious. Not when William and Gabe were best friends that moved states together, managed high school together, needed one another to get from one place to another without getting lost. They were one entity after all those years. Ryan couldn’t imagine that William’s parents just wanted Gabe _out_. Especially not when Gabe wanted to marry their son.

“You know, why don’t we go wait in the lobby, Gabe? You need to sit down.” Ryan foresaw Gabe starting a fight if it was Dallon that told him to leave rather than one of his friends.

“But—”

“Let’s go.” Ryan used Gabe’s grip against him as he tugged him towards the door. The sooner they were both out of the room, the less likely they could be blamed for anything _or_ have Gabe find out that the Becketts were looking to keep out of William’s room. Everyone would be much safer in the waiting room.

Once in the front lobby again, they were all alone except for a child sitting in the back corner, knees to his chest and hands over his face. Ryan guided Gabe into a plastic chair and tried to ignore the middle school boy behind them. Ryan didn’t even need to ask to know exactly what that kid was upset about. He was either crying and begging for the unjust strings of luck to pull in his favor just this _one time_ or was trying to figure out what he was going to do in the world without his mother. Ryan held the same position in his bedroom for two days straight, screaming at whoever came to the door to bring her back. All Ryan ever got was being drug by his hair to therapy. He remembered why he hated hospitals; she was never coming back. Bad things happened to get you in a hospital and apparently bad luck followed you in the door. There was never a good reason to be in one of them. Ryan always left with a new scar of some kind, this time with a reopened wound and another ghosting around his lips, numbing them as he tried to comfort Gabe. He sputtered through another poorly executed sentence before retiring to silence. The boy behind them was still crying, trying to muffle his sobs in his shirt and control is sporadic breathing; his mother was dead. Ryan knew.

“I—I’m going to go wait in the car.” Ryan said, standing and holding a hand out to Gabe. “Give me the keys and let me the hell out of here.” Gabe conceded immediately, slapping the keys into his hand without lifting the other from his face. Ryan knew abandonment wasn’t what Gabe needed, but it wasn’t what that kid deserved either. And Ryan didn’t deserve to be in that godforsaken hospital for one more minute.

Since all the other cars had gone, Gabe’s car was easy to find. It was parked habitually cock-eyed and definitely needed shock work in the back, but Ryan knew it was on William’s summer to-do list—once he sorted everything else out, of course. Gabe wasn’t going to help teach William about jack shit if he didn’t leave the hospital at least somewhat of the same person he went in.

Ryan didn’t know who the group was without their William, their relentless voice of reason that could still hold his liquor like a frat boy. Who was _Gabe_ without his best friend? What secrets did Gabe trustfully leave with William to now have thrown back into his own hands, that hole in himself closed up and healed with no where new to put all the worry and doubt? Ryan learned to bury his, but Gabe didn’t seem to have that luxury if his momentary outpours were any indication. If that pin came lose, the whole group was going to implode and collapse.

William and Gabe were the first people Ryan met in high school. William was the first one to stop calling Ryan by his first name and encouraged the joke to be killed. William introduced Ryan to Patrick—and evidentially Pete. William was the first openly and unapologetically out gay person Ryan had met in his own town.

Ever since meeting William, and watching him continually introduce himself as an out member of the Palo Verde student body, Ryan felt invested. If William and Gabe were able to weather the bumps of secrets and panicked hospital visits and questionable parental behavior, then maybe there was hope for Ryan. Just the last splinter of hope. The last person unknowingly giving him encouragement that the future ahead of him wasn’t a completely dark stretch of road.

It felt intrusive to sit in Gabe’s car alone and in William’s seat. Ryan climbed on the trunk and leaned against the back windshield. The sky was dark already, the street lamps surrounding Ryan eliminating his chances of looking at any stars to pass the time. The orange glow fogged the dark sky and removed its depth, making it look like Ryan could reach up and push the sky farther away. Push everything away. If Ryan closed his eyes, the parking lot fell away and he felt strangely safe in his loneliness.

“Ryan!”

“Huh? What?” Ryan didn’t notice his own dozing. “Who is it?” He covered his eyes as he readjusted the beam of light on him.

“You forgot my name already?” Brendon stepped under the street light, catching the glint in his eye and showing every freckle. His normally swooping bang was pushed up and made a well-formed pompadour on the top of his head. His white polo was untucked and hanging out of his pants noncommittally. And in his left hand was a worn, stickered skateboard. Of fucking _course_.

“Are you fired?” Ryan handed the conversation back to Brendon so he had the time to take in the new appearance.

“No. Dallon had no right to be mad at me. I _was_ helping someone, after all.” Brendon winked and placed his skateboard by the back tire. His hands rested on the trunk of the car near Ryan’s leg. “Thanks for that. You nearly had me fooled.”

“What?”

“I thought you were going to tell Dallon.” Brendon laughed, tracing a scratch on the trunk. “I was sure of it.”

“He doesn’t know?” Ryan thought that was one thing he and Brendon didn’t have in common.

“Of course he does. Doesn’t mean he likes it at all. I mean, he… well, he believes in keeping things how The Book says.” Brendon reached up to rub his nose. “And that includes not being pleased when the first time he meets the new kid he’s mentoring, he’s got his tongue in the mouth of a junior councilor at camp.”

“Oh, so you just kiss every boy you come across?” Ryan intended it to be a joke, but part of him was curious. Their kiss had been fleeting, fading on Ryan’s lips from the moment he touched them. It was a flash, but it was enough to keep Ryan buzzing and glowing. He wouldn’t mind doing it again.

“No. He was my boyfriend at the time.” Ryan tried not to note the way Brendon made it clear he wasn’t with that boy anymore. Or anyone, right? Ryan didn’t think he could stomach the thought of Brendon having another boy he had loyalty to, getting Brendon’s lips whenever he wanted, making Ryan’s first kiss an excuse to abuse naivety.

“Didn’t last?”

“No. I wasn’t that into him.” Brendon shrugged, sharing the truth without any preamble.

“Doesn’t sound that way to me.”

“He had no depth to him. He was just cute.” Brendon sighed, rolling his eyes. “I could tell him something… something _important_ and it was like I was in my room, talking to the fucking ceiling, ya know?” Ryan knew.

“That sucks.” Ryan wanted to smile, but knew that contradiction would be obvious.

“It’s alright. It was a few years ago.” Brendon stretched his arms out and let his hands slide closer to Ryan. “When did you and Pete break up?”

“I didn’t say we ever dated.” Ryan pointed a finger at Brendon, trying to catch him snooping or just hoping to stick a clever guess.

“Didn’t have to.” Brendon said. “He was looking enough for the both of you. Still seems upset about it, if I do make the assumption myself.”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you.” Ryan snapped, his business slowly spreading to outer circles. Even though Brendon didn’t know the specifics, Brendon still noticed something. He always noticed _something_. Ryan was a leaking ship and Brendon was just there to point at the holes.

“Fair enough.” Brendon nodded. “Sorry I asked. You just seem like quite the young man. Not sure what he was thinking _not_ kissing you.” Brendon slid his hands off the trunk and reached for his skateboard, preparing his exit.

“I wonder the same thing a lot.” Ryan hadn’t meant to sound flirtatious, his face going red the minute he spoke. “I just mean… I never really understood… I—fuck.”

“Well, if I may be selfish; I don’t think you should encourage him. I enjoy having the pleasure of kissing you all myself.” Brendon touched Ryan, knowing he’d have no words to respond and letting him do it with the touch of the fingertips. “See you around, Ross.”

“Wait!” Ryan said, sitting up and falling off the car. Brendon was leaving too quickly. “Isn’t it too dark to skateboard?”

“Relax, _Mom_. I have a flashlight.” He laughed. “ _And_ I have the light of God. Duh.”

“Oh.” Ryan muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. “Well, have this too.” Without much thought or consideration, Ryan stepped forward and kissed Brendon on the cheek.

“Well, _now_ I’m all set.” Brendon touched his face where Ryan’s lips had been. “Bye.”

“Bye. See you.” Ryan sat back on the car and watched Brendon push off and start skating away. From Brendon’s hand, a beam of light extended and began guiding him to the end of the parking lot, street lamps flickering or dead. Before jumping the curb and getting onto the side of the road, he flashed the light at Ryan, dazzling his eyes for moment before Ryan waved it away and gave him the finger. Brendon’s warm laughter chased a mocking, flowing melody.

“ _This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed chapter five after the extended wait! as always, let me know what you thought in the comments or in my ask on tumblr @breakfastbeebo!  
> things are getting complicated all around for our boys. chapter six shines just a little more light on some of the mysteries-- hope you're ready. thank you for reading! xoxox


	6. Thump Thump Thump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You aren't going to like Pete after this. Just a little heads up.  
> Enjoy Chapter 6 and always feel free to find me on tumblr (@breakfastbeebo), I'm very eager for your reactions.  
> xo

It was only the beginning of a normal Nevada June, but Pete was already complaining he was too hot. He rolled down the front two windows of his car, the wind whipping Ryan’s hair into his face repeatedly. He began to regret, only for a moment, his decision to grow his hair out for senior year. Ryan didn’t know where they were going although he was sure they had no destination. They typically drove around together, letting the highway eradicate their existence for a few hours. Ryan had nowhere else to be.

“Have you been thinking about where you’re applying next year?” Pete asked, holding a hand out the window and feeling the breeze, no cars around them to spot them.

“We finished junior year like, a week ago, Pete.” Ryan sighed, folding one leg up on his seat. “Can you not focus on the future for a few days?”

“Sorry. I’m constantly with Pat. It’s been ingrained in me.” Pete laughed, both hands back on the steering wheel. “Do you at least have an idea though? Before I start worrying?” He reached over and placed a hand on Ryan’s knee.

“No.” He lied, trying to laugh away the seriousness of his tone. “But I have time.” Time to come up with a plan; one that would excuse Pete from the circle that would learn any of his college ideas.

“Not too long though. The summer will be over before you know it, Ryan.” Pete squeezed his knee, his fingers digging into Ryan’s bony leg. He didn’t know it hurt; Ryan never told him.

“I know.” Ryan said. It couldn’t end fast enough; being at school gave him somewhere to be besides his room.

“Is there a time you have to be home?” Pete pretended to be asking for small talk reasons.

“You know I don’t.” Ryan sighed, leaning over and using Pete’s arm rest. “What did you have in mind?”

“Shell station near your street?” Pete’s uncle used to own the gas station, the entire staff knowing his car and knowing that when it parked behind the rest stop building it wasn’t anything suspicious.

“I think I have time for that.” Ryan pretended to check his watch. He had twenty minutes. And he could have another twenty in about ten minutes too. “You have anywhere you need to be?”

“Patrick invited me to a family dinner I plan on being fashionably late and mildly disheveled for.” Pete said. He flipped on his blinker to ease off the road and take their city’s exit.

The gas station only had two pumps and a convenience store with a total square footage of the deep end of a swimming pool. On a typical afternoon, Pete and Ryan wouldn’t encounter anyone, able to pull up to the first pump and get gas before pulling around to the back alley without being seen. Pete’s car had enough dents and scratches to have a reputation all its own; the driver and passenger didn’t need one as well, being seen driving around the hidden parts of town.

Ryan knew to play along with Pete when he was being flirtatious, but never really knew what to expect _exactly_. He never knew what he was getting himself into when he agreed to pull into the alley. Not to say he was scared or coerced, he just hadn’t gotten the hang of reading Pete’s mind just yet. Sometimes he just wanted to fool around, sometimes he just wanted to get Ryan off, other times he wanted to do it all. Ryan just had to pick the hints up fast enough to understand what to do.

Pete parked in the shadow of the tall dumpster, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his pant buttons. Ryan reached down to begin undoing his own, trying to follow Pete’s lead.

“Hey, no. C’mere.” Pete reached over and grabbed Ryan’s hands, pulling them from his belt and pulling his body towards him. Ryan braced his arms out on Pete’s seat and the dashboard as he balanced his weight, Pete’s hands sliding over his belt buckle. “I’m convinced you wear these just to take me longer.” It was actually because Ryan’s clothes were slowly growing too big for him, but he just bit his lip and rolled his eyes to respond.

“I had no idea this would be timed.” Ryan said, noting Pete moving even slower, the brown leather sliding through the buckle with impossible friction.

Pete was already leaning into Ryan, his breath hot against Ryan’s cheek as he started running his hands along Ryan’s thighs and muttering to him words that made no sense to him. He was so close, and his lips _right there_. Ryan was always so curious. What it would feel like to kiss someone. He knew what everything else—what Pete described as “everything else”—felt like. It was time he got to see what every annoying romance movie was about. What a hot, panting, and handsy kiss felt like. Ryan almost tried the other night, Pete over him, eyes closed and lips twitching as he cursed to himself as his thrusts started to slow. Ryan wanted to reach up, grab his face, and pull him in before they both collapsed in exhaustion, but knew that if he sprung it on Pete then, there was no telling how mad he would get for “ruining everything”. But, nothing was started just yet so it was the perfect time.

With his hands still bracing his weight and Pete’s still cupping Ryan in his jeans, Ryan leaned forward, already able to feel Pete’s breath and the ghost presence of his lips against his own. It disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

“What are you doing?” Pete said, his hand pulling away and pressed against Ryan’s chest. “Are you trying to kiss me?”

“I want to.” Ryan defending, trying to make sure Pete knew that every green light was blaring. “I want to.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to kiss you.” Pete kept his hand on Ryan’s chest, keeping him at length until Ryan understood. “I don’t think we should.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ryan tried to swallow his disappointment. His stomach was going to be sour for weeks. Ryan was never going to know what it would be like to be engulfed in internal heat, throbbing in his veins and fogging windows; Pete didn’t think he should be able to. “We can do something else.” Do whatever Pete wanted.

“Something else is exactly what I had in mind.” Pete’s hand sliding back down Ryan’s body. “Still got time?”

Ryan nodded, trying to focus on staying in the moment and not letting his mind wander to the wrongdoing he had committed. “All the time you need.” It wouldn’t be long. It would end soon enough.

* * *

Ryan had fallen asleep on the back of Gabe’s car by the time he finally returned to drive him home. It was nearly two in the morning, the sun far below the horizon and the sky completely pitch black; the moon had retired for the evening as well. Gabe’s shirt was untucked and sweater in his hands as he shuffled back to the car, exhausted and without much energy left to give. Ryan was afraid to ask how William was, but he knew that it was all Gabe was thinking about. Even a minute after leaving, the distance was weighing on him, slowing him down before he even reached Ryan.

“Is everything okay?” Ryan said, sitting up quickly, getting dizzy.

“He’s fine.” Gabe sighed. He should have sounded far more enthusiastic. “But his doctor’s are going to consider a new treatment plan or something. He didn’t tell me. I had to _overhear a fucking phone call with his parents_.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell you?” Gabe was a sobbing mess; who wouldn’t give him information to soothe him?

“I wasn’t family. My opinions don’t matter.” He said. “Now I don’t know if he’s going home early for out-patient whatever the fuck or staying there longer and become a permanent resident.”

“Wow.” Ryan knew why Gabe didn’t know the truth and it made everything sit heavier in his stomach. “Gabe, you should go home and get some sleep… You’re going to end up in there if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Gabe.”

“I feel like I’ve lost him.” Gabe didn’t offer the time to argue the comment and walked to the driver’s side. “Get in or I’m driving off with you on the back.”

Ryan gave Gabe the keys and got in the back seat. He didn’t deserve to sit in the front. He wasn’t the right shape or brightness to fill the dark and growing void in Gabe’s life. Ryan also felt guilty having experienced a chaste enlightenment about intimacy on the same night Gabe witnessed his love go limp in his arms. Finally, Ryan got his first kiss, his first glimmer of the insight to love songs and movies, and Gabe’s own happy ending was being barred by ID cards and parent restrictions. After his first kiss, Ryan didn’t feel like sitting in the passenger seat of a car anyway. He wanted to remember the kiss properly and not the way he thought he wanted it to go a few months ago and what replaced his attempt to silence the naïve flutter of his heart.

As they drove back to Ryan’s house, he tried to remember every reason he told himself he wouldn’t ask Pete why he wouldn’t kiss him. Of course, Ryan knew asking one question would open the floodgates to let Pete ask Ryan each and every question that came to mind—and he wanted to avoid it at all costs—but then again, kissing Ryan wasn’t just a fact he was withholding, it was something that _involved_ Ryan. It wasn’t a scar or a dead relative. This was something Ryan would never know, lying awake some nights, wondering if there was something wrong with him. If he was the one that was defective; Pete never telling him in an attempt to try and protect his feelings.

“Hey, Gabe. Can you drop me off at that gas station by my street?” Ryan asked. “You look exhausted. I’ll walk the rest of the way home.”

“No, Ryan. I’m okay.”

“Either you stop there or I’m going to jump out.” Ryan argued. That gas station was ground zero and if he had to walk back to it from his house, he might abandon the idea before he even got out the door.

“Fine.” Gabe yawned as he agreed, convincing Ryan he was making the right decision for everyone.

As they drove back to town, Ryan pulled out his phone, sending a quick text without a moment to reconsider:

_Meet me at our old spot. I’m waiting._

It didn’t matter if Pete was awake, at least in the morning, he would see Ryan’s attempt to get his attention. He would no doubt call him, angry but still confused that Ryan was trying to start talking. Ryan could flesh it out over the phone and then hang up without giving Pete the time to yell back. Ryan could finally tell someone how he felt in a controlled and safe way. Pete wouldn’t be at the gas station. Ryan would be able to stand in the alley and pretend to get even with an old memory, even if it was just on his own. Because what was kissing in a hallway if not just a well-lit alley?

“Is it alright if I get gas, Ryan?” Gabe said.

“At a gas station? No. Go ahead.” Ryan said, patting Gabe on the shoulder as he pulled up by the pump. “I’ll see you later.” He opened the back door and began crossing the lot towards the convenience store, the artificial white light still on and squaring lights on the pavement at his feet. His dark clothing allowed Ryan to slip into the alleyway without Gabe noticing his rerouting. He was able to slip behind the store in a few footsteps. Behind him, Ryan heard swearing at the gas pump.

Ryan expected no one, just his own thoughts and memories affronting him as he rounded the corner. Not the man who helped carve them into Ryan’s mind.

“Pete?” Ryan gasped, seeing the boy leaning against the trunk of his car, parking in its usual spot.

“What do you want.” He was already furious, and by the way he was standing to walk towards Ryan, a little drunk. Ryan hadn’t factored liquor into any of this. That wasn’t how this was supposed to be. Ryan never had to think about liquor when he dealt with Pete—that was strictly a home situation. But it now it was nearly three in the morning and Ryan had a drunk ex-lover on his hands. Ryan had made a terrible mistake.

“I just… wanted to ask you something.” Ryan felt the truth come rushing out, fear pushing it forward to try and create a barrier between him and Pete.

“What could you _possibly_ want to know. What do you want to _ask_ me?” Pete seethed. “Isn’t it me who deserves some goddamn answers for all the fucking _waiting_ I did? Or do you just get to take and take and fucking _take_.”

“Why did you never kiss me?” Ryan answered Pete’s pitiful shouting with his own short response. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Kissing?” Pete snorted out a laugh and stumbled closer to Ryan. His breath was vile, his clothes were wrinkled, and he was a near perfect replica of his father. “Is that what this is about? Fucking _kissing_?”

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Ryan tried to stiffen his voice; it wobbled with every breath. “I am allowed to ask. Why didn’t _you_ want to?” Pete stared at Ryan, his eyes slowly closing in a laborious blink before reopening and narrowing. In the threatening silence, Pete began laughing, cold and harsh. He stepped up to Ryan quickly, charging him.

“This is about that fucking guy at the hospital.” He smirked. “That little schoolboy told you he’d kiss you, huh? Give you a little action? A little excusable sin?”

“Shut up, Pete.” Ryan refused to be degraded for the first time he felt a blissful tightening in his chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I gave you everything.” Pete yelled, his finger ramming into Ryan’s chest and nearly sending him backwards in shock. “I gave you everything, Ryan. I was the only one that wanted you. Me. Only me. And what? Some desperate twink wants to finally stick his tongue down the throat of some awkward fucking _priss_ and you’re just going to forget I even existed? I don’t fucking _think so_.” He spat on Ryan with every word, the liquor making his words sloppy and slippery.

“This isn’t about any of that. I want to know why you wouldn’t kiss me. What did I do?” What did Pete find repulsive that Brendon didn’t see yet?

“A kiss? Is that what you fucking want?” Pete grabbed Ryan’s shirt before he had time to push him away. “That’s it? Fine.”

“Pete, get off of me!” Pete grabbed his shirt fabric and tugged back against Pete’s grip “Let go of me!”

“You want to complain about what I didn’t do? Let’s shut you the fuck _up_!”

“Pete, _stop it_!” Ryan placed a hand over Pete’s face, trying to inflict enough pain to sober him up and hopefully get his brain back in order. “PETE!”

“ _What the fuck is going on here_?” Ryan scrambled backwards, his knees buckling and causing him to fall to the ground as Gabe shouted at the two of them. “Pete, what are you doing?” He looked between the two of them, Pete still standing over Ryan and glaring at him, Ryan’s shirt wrinkled and hiked up on his stomach.

“Ryan was looking for a little midnight escapade. Typical.” Pete sounded betrayed far beyond what Ryan expected. When he felt betrayed, he lashed out; he already told Patrick and here he was about to do it again.

“Pete, shut up.” Ryan cried. “Shut up!”

“I was there for Ryan. Fucking _virgin at seventeen_. And he complains about a _kiss_.”

“Pete, please stop.” Ryan couldn’t bare look at Gabe, watching his face as he began to put the pieces together, began to spot all the lies he had been waving right in front of his face. Gabe had already tried to talk to Ryan _twice_ about this very subject and Ryan lied through the skin of his teeth, ignoring him or being unreasonably rude to him. Ryan covered his face, hiding his head in the sand and trying to suffocating himself between his fingers.

“Pete.” Gabe breathed slowly through his nose, his voice low and measured. “Get your drunk ass in my car so I can drive you home. _Now_.” An agonizing pause hung over them. “Don’t make me drag you there by your fucking hair, boy.”

“You don’t scare me, Gabe. You and your fucking boyfriend-of-the-year charade. You just want to bone Will. Only reason you even care he’s in the hospital.” Pete spared no one.

“You are such a dick when you’re drunk, Pete. I am giving you a warning and a pass to get in my car without a serious fucking problem.” Gabe sounded closer, Ryan quickly lowering his hands to help back himself away from the impending battle. “Don’t you dare insult any of my friends again. Or you’re as good as gone, Wentz. You understand me? I have no problem tuning your ass up from here until graduation.”

“Like you’ll ever _get there_.”

“Pete, I’m warning you.”

“Pete, just shut up! Just get in the fucking car and shut up!” Ryan cried, trying to get to his feet. “You’re drunk and you just need to sleep this off. You’re mad and I get it. But please shut up.” Drunk violence wasn’t supposed to happen there. This was _his_ place. This wasn’t a place Ryan wanted to have remind him of home. Ryan would do anything. “Pete, _please_.” He begged the way he used to, grabbing Pete’s arm and running a hand up to his shoulder. The sensation had to awaken some part of Pete, some sober part that wasn’t screaming into the vast unbearable silence of the early day.

“Pete, go.” Gabe emphasized his encouragement by shoving Pete towards his car. “Now.”

“Fine.” Pete grumbled, shoving all hands off and away from him. “Fine, I’ll get in your _fucking_ car.” Pete intended it to be a verb, insulting Gabe and William once more before shoving past his shoulder and leaving them.

Ryan was too embarrassed to even look at Gabe, covering his face again as he pretended to be getting something out of his eye—namely the tears welling up in them. In another turn of events, completely Ryan’s fault, he had been outed to someone else. Now it looked like Ryan hadn’t trusted Gabe enough to talk about boys or sex or anything Gabe offered to open up about. Ryan looked exactly like the shit friend he was. Pete was drunk and violent and Ryan was the one exposed.

“Are you okay?” Gabe asked, his anger dissipating.

“I’m fine.” Ryan nodded, wiping his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Ryan...”

“ _I’m fine_!”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” He said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That wasn’t cool of him to do. I’ll act like I didn’t even hear it if you want. I told you I’d wait for you to tell me, and I totally meant it, okay?” Gabe was handing Ryan the chance. The words had already been said again, all Ryan had to do was agree. Lead Gabe to his own words. “Okay?” He was ready to leave the conversation and his visions behind.

“Gabe,” He already regretted speaking but the alley had a way of making him do things he didn’t want to. “I’m like Will.”

He paused, unsure what Ryan was saying. “What? Like nervous or…”

“Not like you. I’m like Will.” There, using his own words from Gabe’s approach to the topic that one Friday night.

“Okay. That’s totally fine.” Gabe smiled and squeezed Ryan’s shoulder. “Still not going to act like I know a damn thing. Hell, I’m not even going to tell Will.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Ryan muttered, knowing the sentiment was a joke, but revealed his commitment.

“It’s a hard thing to do, Ryan.”

“Gabe, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine.” The faster Gabe left, the faster Ryan could be left to try and sift through what had happened. He had to figure out who knew what, and how he was going to cover it all up again. Pete had guessed far too correctly about Brendon, but he was hoping he was too incapacitated to remember the next morning.

“Fine, if you insist.” Gabe lifted his hand and held them up in surrender. “Can I at least drive you home?”

“No. That’s okay. I can just walk. Get him home before he finally convinces you to kill him.” Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets to begin his slow march home. He started heading towards the street, limited light available from the dying streetlamps. He blended in so easily to the background, he could step into it and disappear. But now he had at least two people that would miss him.

“Hey, Ryan.” Gabe called, stopping at the corner, hand on the wall. “Is that why you asked me to drive you here? To meet Pete and… I mean, it’s none of my business, but…”

“No. I just… I had a question. A really stupid question I should have known better than to ask.” Ryan said from the shadows.

“Fair enough.” Gabe nodded. “Did you get your answer?”

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded. “It wasn’t my fault.” It wasn’t. Pete saw something ugly in Ryan, but that didn’t mean it was actually there. Someone else saw right through Ryan’s lies and still hadn’t found that ugly part that repelled Pete. He seemed to find something better. How was Brendon the only one? When was Ryan going to start seeing things through Brendon’s lens?

“I’ll see you later, man. Take care.” Gabe waved before going back to his car. Ryan could hear Pete trying to start an argument back up with Gabe, but turned to keep walking before any words clearly made their way back to him.

Ryan didn’t want to be walking home, he didn’t want to be going back into the only place he knew he would undoubtedly run into another drunk man, angry about things Ryan unknowingly did wrong. Ryan didn’t want to be reminded of Pete when he looked into his father’s angry eyes. He didn’t want to fear Pete the same way he feared his father. He just wanted this day to be cemented in his memory without any of the downfalls of the day.

Ryan might have been returning to the same broken home, his mother was still beyond his reach and his father slipping farther away each day, his room was still a closet, he might still have had an imaginary girlfriend, his skylight was still bolted shut and his posters were still rolled up and under his bed, but Ryan kissed a boy that day. He got every answer to his most burning question and kissed a boy. A boy wanted to kiss him and made every effort to get the chance and send Ryan’s heart up into his ears, making his entire body run rigid. It was strange and awkward and chaste and perfect.

Ryan kissed a boy. There was nothing wrong with him. Finally, an answer.

* * *

After a narrow escape upstairs at God’s hour, Ryan hid in his room for most of Sunday. He knew most his friends would be hung over or exhausted one way or another and he wouldn’t be missing much if he just stayed in bed with the covers pulled up over his head. No one knocked on his door that morning. No one had the word of Jesus Christ to spread—unfortunately. Pete called him three times, leaving voicemails that all ran together in a rushed mess of apologies. Patrick called once, apologizing for Pete’s actions—the phone calls, he meant. Ryan didn’t doubt he knew about Pete’s outburst, being his friend the longest and putting the pieces together, but he didn’t let it on. He had that much respect for Ryan to allow the allusion of lies.

Around dinner time—or at least around the time Ryan was hungry—he got a phone call from Spencer. He had nothing better to do than answer it. He knew better to blow Spencer off; he’d walk the few feet and come to his door if he wasn’t too careful about how much silent treatment or space he requested.

“What’s up, Spencer?” Ryan said, placing the phone under his face and on the pillow.

“Want to come over?” Spencer asked. “My sisters are out with my mom and I don’t feel like being alone all night.”

“Spencer Smith, are you booty calling me?” Ryan laughed.

“There will be other people here, asshole.” Spencer sighed. “I thought I’d have a few of us over.”

Ryan stopped. “Who?”

“Jon; Gabe, of course since he should not be alone too long; thinking about inviting Pat… But also know that that means Pete too. And I assume you don’t want to see him.”

“I do not.” Ryan answered. He was about to sit up, getting ready to walk over to Spencer’s, but then thought of Patrick being pulled along by Pete. Pete’s own spiteful retaliation putting Patrick in the middle of a feud he was politely trying to stay out of. Patrick had never hurt Ryan, never hurt any of them. He was the valedictorian that never once held competition with William for first in the class, the student council president that won just by good-hearted campaigning, he was the only child that took them all in as his brothers. Pete’s drunken misbehavior had nothing to do with Patrick. “I’m not coming though.”

“What? Why?” Spencer asked. “You know I always feed you. Free food, Ry. Come on.”

“You should invite Patrick. He didn’t do anything. I’ll come over some other time.” Ryan pulled the blankets back up under his chin.

“If Pete doesn’t come, will you come over?” Spencer sighed. “Jeopardy isn’t any fun when Patrick knows all the fucking answers.”

“I’ll be there.” Ryan promised.

They exchanged their goodbyes before Ryan hung up, placing his phone beside his pillow. He knew Pete would go, having to drive Patrick in the first place because he still felt anxious driving—something Pete had told him in private one night, hand tucking hair behind Ryan’s ear. Ryan knew they would both go together and they would have a great time with or without him. Pete and Patrick would go, and Pete would be on the phone with Ryan every few minutes, trying to get him to come over or at least answer his phone. Ryan of course would not, and he could sleep soundly to the rumbling of his stomach.

Ryan didn’t hear any bump, bang, or grumble in the house. He assumed he was alone and rolled over in bed, facing his blank wall, thinking about what posters he wanted to have on it, the faces he would like to be looking at. Ryan also found himself considering what kind of posters he could find on the walls of his friends—namely a hospital volunteer. Ryan pushed the thought away hurriedly, shocking himself as he considered Brendon a friend already. They didn’t have to be friends just because they kissed. Ryan and Brendon could still just be acquaintances, but at the rate Brendon was clocking and reading Ryan’s secrets, he knew they weren’t.

Ryan decided Brendon probably didn’t have any posters; his religion probably forbid the vanity of false idols or whatever the fuck made it improper for Brendon to salivate over a twenty-four by thirty-six glossy photo of his favorite pop culture crush. Although, in his community bubble, Ryan was curious who it could possibly be. His standards must have been all skewed considering he found Ryan irresistible with someone like Gabe or Patrick never too far away. He wasn’t going to fight it. Kissing a Mormon was one of the best decisions Ryan made—or refused to make and evidentially had made for him, thankfully.

Ryan didn’t get the chance to even begin to drift off when his phone began to shake his pillow. He silenced it without looking, eyes sinking closed and without any energy to lift them. If Pete really wanted to talk, he’d have to wait for school. And even then, Ryan would always make sure to be in a crowd when Pete’s chances to start _anything_ would be immediately limited. As long as Ryan brought Gabe everywhere, he’d be fine. Without William with him at all times, Gabe needed someone else to guard ridiculously with his entire being. Why not let it be Ryan?

His phone rang a fourth time before Ryan decided to answer it, saying a short “no.” before hanging up. He thought his message was clear enough. He wanted to be left alone, in his room, with his poster-less walls and curious Mormon daydreams. Of course though, his firm answer was taken to mean a firm hand knocking at the door downstairs. How could Ryan not anticipate the idiot walking the few houses to his front door? Ryan let him knock, tiring his wrist out and getting a blister on the side of his hand as he continued to bang and bang and bang.

“What? What do you fucking _want_? I’m coming. Shut up!”

Ryan shot up in bed, throwing his sheets back and scrambling to get to his feet. He thought he was alone. His father shouldn’t have been home. Pete should have been left at that door, knocking his guilt away for the next hour. No one should have answered that door. Ryan should not have been running on his still-healing foot, but he was. All of it was true and Ryan had never been so scared.

“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” Ryan yelled, tumbling down the last few steps. “I’ll get the door.”

“What the fuck do you want?” His father was already at the door, staring down at Pete. Both looked similarly haggard and gray, for similar reasons too. “Why are you at my house?”

“I’m here to see Ryan.” Pete said firmly, looking at Ryan’s father as if he had no right to question him. Ryan was standing behind him, trying to wave him down, usher him away, but the two of them had locked eye-contact. Ryan could feel his pulse racing, thumping in his chest. It was in his ears in the worst way. Not the way where he became hyperaware of just how excited his pulse showed him to be and made every sense heightened. It was the kind that made him hyperaware of how his heart could stop at any moment. Thump, thump, thump— _burst_.

“Who are you?” He spat at Pete, never having seen his face before, both men meeting for the first time and neither trying to exchange pleasantries. Suddenly, Ryan reluctance to get close to Pete made terrifying sense.

“I’m Pete.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. “An old boyfriend.”

Thump, thump, thump— _nothing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you.


	7. Seventy-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, enjoy and my ask is open to your thoughts (@breakfastbeebo on Tumblr-- the anti-pete club is growing)

Ryan couldn’t get his heart to continue beating as his father pivoted on his heels. He stared at Ryan with enough boiling anger to make him buckle at his father’s breathing, steam all but escaping through his nose. Pete’s eyes shifted over to Ryan trying to look prideful, but struggling as he saw fear reflected in Ryan’s. The door was slammed in his face before Ryan had a chance to see if Pete had registered his mistake.

“Wait! Let me in! I want to talk to him!” Pete yelled, banging on the door again. “Ryan, you can’t be mad forever.”

Ryan’s father turned to him as the door rattled the house, taking slow steps towards him. He had fire behind his eyes and fury curling his fingers into tight fists. Confusion was twisting his already furrowed face and Ryan had no answers for him.

“Explain.”

“What? I’m not sure where you want me to start. I mean, obviously, I should probably start with his name. That’s Pete. He’s my friend from high school. A _little_ deranged, if I do say so in private.” Ryan tried to seem relaxed, laughing at his own approach to the conversation. He could talk his way out of this. He had nearly missed other outings before. His father was always disoriented enough to be befuddled by Ryan’s conversational topics. Although, the lack of alcohol emanating from his breath made Ryan feel unprepared. “He just hasn’t been the same since he got in that car crash when we were juniors. You remember. I told you. Split his head open. Almost a hundred stitches. Disgusting.”

“Boy, I was born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.” His father was sober, furious, and about to have a somewhat legitimate argument with Ryan. He was fucked. Oh, he was so terribly fucked. If the universe wanted to be kind to Ryan, Pete would still be outside the door, listening to Ryan plead for mercy. If there was any God, he’d make Pete open the door. “Why is he at this house?”

“I—I don’t know! I don’t control him, Dad. He’s been so moody lately.” Ryan shrugged Pete off as if there was nothing more to it. His father continued to inch closer to him, Ryan backing himself away, trying to find the stairs. Trying to get to his phone. “I don’t know, Dad. Honestly.”

“Shut up!” The back of his hand struck Ryan across the face before he even had time to defend himself. He staggered backwards, trying to stay on his feet and avoid being under foot. He backed himself into the dining room, ready to use any chairs he could get his hands on in defense. “I heard what that lunatic said.”

“I—I didn’t.” Ryan was choking. The lies were binding together and sinking in his stomach, refusing to rise and spill out of his mouth. His lips were numb, Brendon’s kiss still scarring them with guilt.

“What’s your girlfriend’s name, Ryan?” His father was sharp when he wasn’t carrying Jack Daniels or Sam Adams on his back. Ryan never thought he’d be better off if his father was drinking. “What is it?”

“Uh,” Ryan couldn’t remember if he ever gave her a name. He couldn’t remember anything about her other than she was fine. And had short, banged brown hair. And round, telling brown eyes. And irresistible freckles. And a laugh that could comfort you when you were miles from home and yourself. And a ridiculous religion they followed to please others. And the softest lips Ryan had ever touched. There was only one person coming to mind. “Brendon.”

“You want to say that again.” His father seethed while his hand closed around the back of a chair. Ryan stumbled into another chair, falling into the wall and clutching it nervously. Was he going to throw it or wait for Ryan to come close enough to shove him down into it? “I didn’t raise you _on my own_ to have you grow up a fag. I raised you so you’d learn how to be a _man_. And you’re—you’ve disobeyed me. How dare you.”

“Dad, wait. It’s not like that.” It was. It was exactly that. Ryan was gay despite whatever nonsensical things his father had done. He was gay; Ryan just had to start owning up to it. “I—I can explain everything.” Explain that his wandering eyes had gotten him his first sexual experience with a boy. How he was caught staring at Pete, the boy not letting him get away with it and luring Ryan with obvious advances, and the time Ryan finally took the bait. Explain that the boy Ryan went to help without a second thought turned out to be his first kiss, after leaving the bedside of his other gay friend, anxiety-ridden and lonely. Explain everything he was hiding.

“I’m waiting!” The chair hit the wall beside Ryan and splintered. The legs hit Ryan and caused him to fall to the ground, his hands sliding through the wood pieces. His palms were burning as he scrambled backwards across the floor. His father’s rage wasn’t sloppy or undirected; he was clear-headed and perfectly aware of what Ryan was telling him. He wasn’t going to forget.

“Pete’s just… a friend. He came onto me. He made it all up in his head!” Ryan cried. “He made it all up!”

“What’s her _name_ , Ryan!” He pulled the dining table back and made it impossible for Ryan to hide anywhere but the corner. “Tell me her _name_!”

“I don’t know!” Ryan cried, his back pressing against the corner. He pulled his legs in and tried to shrink into the corner, getting to a place his father couldn’t reach. His scar itched as he pressed against the wallpaper. “I don’t know! I don’t know!” Ryan waited for the impact, bracing his head on his knees and clasping his hands behind his neck. The last thing Ryan needed was a broken nose or a black eye. Those were impossible to hide. He tensed and waited, footsteps still in the room.

They grew quiet the longer Ryan waited.

The door slammed and Ryan peeked out from his fetal position.

“Dad?” Ryan whispered, lifting his head. “Dad, please. Let me explain.” Silence. “…Dad?”

He was actually alone. Broken chair, skewed table, shaking bones, and not another soul around. Coming out left Ryan alone every time. First, his mother left in a pine box, then Pete punched his own ticket with invasive questions and restlessness, and lastly his father dropped the heaviest silence on Ryan, pinning him to the spot with fear. Every time he was honest, someone was repulsed. What had Ryan done?

Ryan pulled himself back into the corner, his eyes beginning to sting, hot tears forming in his eyes. Even alone, Ryan fought them. If he started crying, that would mean his father won. His father had made him feel ashamed, feel unsafe and scared. If he cried, he was admitting that something was wrong with him. Although, at that point, Ryan knew there was no denying it.

He heard more quiet knocking at his door, Pete trying to return after seeing Ryan’s father storm out of the house. Ryan let him knock. His sobs were heavy, his entire body heaving against his legs and the wall. Splinters were making his palms bleed and he wasn’t sure how he was even going to get them all out, but nothing but the silence was on Ryan’s mind.

What did it mean that his father left rather than continuing to fight him? Why was an exit something he deemed more hurtful than aiming the dining chair a few more inches to the left? Was he going to come back? Ryan didn’t have anyone else, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he became a sudden orphan, unable to go into the foster system now that he was technically an adult.

Ryan rested his head against the wall and continued to cry, screaming into the silence, knowing nothing would answer back. At least then he could pretend it was his mother. With the unresponsive silence, Ryan was joined by his mother in the dining room, able to find a small comfort that immediately vanished the moment Ryan let himself take a moment to try and rationalize himself.

* * *

Ryan sat with his mother for three days, unable to remove himself from his comfort. He couldn’t leave her. He didn’t have anyone else left. Gabe came every morning to try and take him to school, but Ryan ignored the knocking. His phone was still upstairs, letting him remain invisible for days. Spencer tried to stop by a few times, calling into the house and tapping on windows, but all the lights were off in the house. He was disconnected from everyone, but he had never felt more content, finally back with his mother, with someone who knew all his secrets and finally came back.

Wednesday afternoon, Ryan was considering standing to get in the shower when another person was at his door, knocking. He ignored it again, slowly getting to his feet and brushing himself off. He expected to be covered in dust. He felt put-away and broken. All the old memories and toys brought down from the attic were used up for their allotted fifteen minutes before the appeal was lost and had to be put back. Ryan wasn’t meant to be open with everyone the way he had been with his mother. Her son Ryan was a very different boy than the man he was becoming. He had attended his own funeral, in a way. He left the dining room with slow steps, his shuffling feet lifting the silence and taking his mother away again.

The knocking continued, although without getting impatient. His mother slipped away as another person made their presence known.

“Ryan? Can you please just come to the door?” Pete called. “Please? We’re all going to the hospital. And I figured you’d want to go.”

Ryan stood at the stairs but called back. “What’s wrong?”

“Bill might get to go home!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Ryan yelled back. The situation seemed too good to be true.

“I don’t know the specifics, but Pat just called me. Please trust me.” Pete said. “I won’t talk the whole car ride, just please leave the house.” Of course Pete was worried about him too. He still felt guilty. He remembered what he had done.

“No.”

“Ryan, please! This is a big thing for Will. Don’t be petty.”

“Not convincing me.” Ryan retorted, wishing he had answered the door just so he could slam it in his face.

“Let me take you to the hospital.” Pete repeated. “I’m sure that volunteer is there or something.”

Ryan stepped up to the door to yank it open. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means, he’ll let us in.” Oh. “Let me take you to see all your friends, the one you haven’t seen in four days because he’s in the hospital.” Pete used his bitter logic, but eased his tone back to be kinder. “I figure you need all the friends you can get.”

“Why…” Ryan didn’t want to admit to any sympathy or pity.

“Because of that fight you had. I know fighting with parents is hard but I’ve never seen you that upset.” Ryan never let him see him that upset—Pete didn’t know a fraction of what he had missed. “Let me drive you. See your friends.” He didn’t seem to be including himself in that group.

“Why should I trust being alone with you?” Ryan asked.

“Because I’m sober and fucking embarrassed about how I acted.” Guilt was a good look on Pete; he didn’t wear it often.

“Not good enough.” Ryan went to close the door open but Pete’s foot shot out to stop it. “No. I’m not going with you, Pete.”

“Then, here. Let me call Gabe.” Pete sighed, shoving his phone through the crack in the door. “Let me bother him on his way to go see his boyfriend again. Let me just—”

“Don’t guilt me.” Ryan muttered, trying to close the door again on Pete’s foot. “Stop it, Pete.”

“I’m trying to do something nice and you won’t let me.” Pete argued, trying to push the door open. “You can sit in the fucking back of the car if you want. Just let me take you to the damn hospital.”

“… You promise?”

“I’m doing this because Gabe still wants me dead. Not you.” Pete sighed, still pushing against the door.

Ryan stopped pushing the door closed. “He does have good reason.” He said. “You were being a fucking dick.”

“He made sure to remind me when I was sober.” He said, easing the door open enough so they were looking at each other. “I can’t believe I said all those awful things.”

“I can.”

“I’m already down, Ry. Can’t you cut me a break?”

“No.” Ryan never saw a break. He never got a moment to feel like he wasn’t under attack. He never got a moment alone without feeling complete loneliness. “Consequences aren’t supposed to make you feel good.”

“I still don’t know what I’m paying for though.” He sighed, leaning his head against the doorframe, trying to look endearing.

“That’s not my problem.” Ryan shrugged. He grabbed a sweatshirt from the rack behind the door, his house key clanging in the pocket. It was the only way he’d get back in; his father hadn’t been home in three days and he wasn’t sure how long the boycott was going to last. Going to the hospital would be a chance to be around friends, people who didn’t know any better than to think Ryan was just sick. He’d be able to be someone else for a period of time. Until, of course, someone took one charming look at him and saw through his messy curls and weak smile to know what was happening behind his eyes. Going to the hospital would put him a place to be seen, if only in short doses. “Now, drive.”

* * *

“Ryan, get over here!” William was standing in a common area of the ward. He was still in his hospital garb, but had one of his typical sweatshirts around his shoulders, giving a splash of color and normalcy to his appearance.

“Hi, Will.” Ryan didn’t see anyone other than William’s parents off in the corner and talking with the same doctor that rushed to his aid on Halloween. “How are you?”

“Fantastic.” He grinned and held his arms out for him. Ryan walked away from Pete, who was already trying to retreat to one of the seats, to hug William. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Stomach bug I think. Ate something from the cafeteria on Halloween and felt sick.” The lie occurred faster once Ryan was no longer looking at William’s face but instead over his shoulder.

“Oh no. That’s awful.” William squeezed Ryan tighter, the embrace something Ryan shamefully needed. “How do you feel now?”

“Better. Much better.”

“I’m glad.” William was about to leave the hospital, embarking on a foggy future and he was content in knowing Ryan was safe. What did Ryan do to deserve friends who were so kind despite his constant lies?

“Where is everyone? I figured Gabe would be here, hanging off your fucking side.” Ryan laughed. “I mean, Pete told me…”

“Told you what?”

“That he’d be here.”

“Gabe still doesn’t know.” William said, smothering his grin. “I’m going to surprise him.”

“—I’m going to go sit in the waiting room.” Pete said, suddenly standing. “I’ll be waiting when you’re done, Ryan.”

“Wait a fucking second. You lied to me.” Ryan seethed, grabbing his arm. He spoke between his teeth, trying to not let William hear, or appear more publicly the fool. Pete told Ryan to trust him.

“Just hang out with Will. I figure you want to talk.” Pete muttered.

“Because he’s gay?” Ryan hissed. Pete was in no place to be trying to find Ryan someone to find comfort in; Ryan wasn’t telling everyone. Just because Pete let it slip once didn’t mean Ryan wanted to reveal his secrets to his friends. He still hadn’t gotten a reaction as comforting as his mother’s smile, blowing a stream of smoke between her lips.

“Actually, yes.” Pete answered. “Pretty damn gay and he’s gone through some shit and maybe you could get some insight from him. Your _friend_.”

“I am _not_ going to pry into William’s business.” Ryan said. “I refuse.”

“Fine.” Pete sighed, tugging his arm out of Ryan’s grip. “I will—Hey, Bill?”

“No, Pete! Don’t you fucking—”

“Can I ask you something?” Pete was able to play coy without any difficulty. The act was well known to Ryan.

“Yeah. Of course, what’s up?” He grinned at Pete, already in a chipper mood after his time in the same room day after day. A change of scenery did wonders.

“How are you and Gabe?” Ryan wanted to scoff at the lack of subtlety, but at the same time, couldn’t figure out where Pete was taking the conversation. He just had to sit and watch, match burning in Pete’s hand.

William stuffed his hands in his pocket. “They’re good.” He shrugged his shoulders and hummed. “I mean, they’ve been better… I mean, it’s not awful, but I feel like things are different.”

“Oh.” Pete wasn’t expecting anything else but elation; a bubbly reminder that it was Ryan who was being difficult and secretive; proof that being open and out was nothing to be ashamed of.  And Pete of course chose to use the couple that weren’t out to their parents, with one half still living in a hospital, while Pete himself refused to even come close enough to kiss Ryan. Ryan only began to feel worse the more he realized that if Gabe and William were feeling disheveled after something like this, Ryan didn’t know what he was hoping for in his own life.

“I—It’s fine though. It’s just my medication. I’m still adjusting and then I know adjusting to therapy and being back at home will be a lot, and then add Gabe… I’m worried I won’t be able to keep up with everyone and everything.” William tried to look cheerful. “Gotta remember how to be a good boyfriend.”

“You first have to remember how to be a good person to yourself, Bill.” Ryan rebutted. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“Wise words.” William said, looking at Ryan and slowly lowering his eyes to his wrinkled clothes and sweatshirt that was a few sizes too large. “I’ll take them if you do too.”

“I’m fine, Will.” Ryan tried to sound confused. William didn’t have the ability to see through Ryan; he still followed his lies. Whatever Ryan told him, he would have to believe. He wouldn’t know better.

He wasn’t like a familiar white polo, strolling through the common area.

“Hey Pete—Oh, hey Ryan!” Brendon waved at them as he walked over, placing a hand on both William and his backs. Brendon’s hand landed across Ryan’s scar, his body tensing. “Exciting day, huh?” William nodded while Ryan still remained frozen in time, Brendon in a position to notice Ryan’s scar, to suddenly see everything that had happened to him, down to the stitches and hospital room. When Ryan didn’t respond, he began rubbing circles on Ryan’s back, trying to soothe him awake.

“You doing anything to celebrate getting out of here?” Brendon asked, looking between the two of them. “I mean, I know that Halloween party was _pretty_ spectacular, but now your blood alcohol content is the limit.” He warmed them all with a quiet chuckle, pulling them both in closer.

“No, nothing like that.” William assured him, shaking his head. “Probably nothing today. Or tomorrow.”

“That actually sounds great.” Brendon said. “I’m missing school to work doubles Thursday _and_ Friday.”

“You’re a volunteer.” William countered. “Why so many hours?”

Brendon shrugged. “I like it, I guess.” His hand slid down on Ryan’s back, acknowledging the twist in his face, knowing the answer was a lie. He was avoiding a mission and it seemed like Dallon found a perfect punishment for Brendon’s back talking. “Better than going to school though, right?”

“Know your crowd, man.” Ryan muttered, nudging Brendon’s side. The touch was careful and almost accidental, but Brendon reacted with swiftness, turning to aim his glowing eyes at Ryan, listening to him. Brendon was giving him every ounce of his attention, eager to hear his words. Ryan tried no to feel special, feel flattered by the attention, but he found himself smiling at the gesture.

“Right. Teacher’s pet and a two troubled youths.” Brendon’s hand patted Ryan’s shoulder before sliding off his back, both hands slapping his sides. “Guess I won’t be seeing you guys around anymore, huh?”

“I guess not.” Ryan hadn’t considered it. Yet another person exiting his life.

“I mean, not here at least.” William said. “My parents were talking about having you over for dinner. Get to know the boy that _saved their son's life_.”

“Are you serious?” Brendon asked. He was being welcomed into their lives and Ryan didn’t even have to lie.

“Yeah! And I’m already in the process of inviting Gabe— of course—and Ryan if you want to come, you can too. I mean, I know a warm, home cooked meal always makes me feel better after I’m sick.” William offered, already glowing at the chance to help a friend.

“Sounds great.” Ryan said with a tense smile. An actual dinner sounded wonderful, but lying to parents was harder than lying to his friends. Ryan already proved to be horrible at it. “I’ll ask my dad.”

William was summoned by his parents and the doctor, papers and pen in hand. He walked over, skip in his step and head held high. Ryan felt suspicious about feeling comforted by William’s attitude; he wasn’t sure if he should have been spotting his deceptive competition.

Pete didn’t follow William as he walked by, instead he kept them focused on Ryan and the boy now left alone beside him. He expected an interruption, another impending embarrassment to shame Ryan from another person in his life. Pete traded obsessing over Ryan’s proximity to Brendon for a fake text message on his phone. He had the match lit and he finally put it out.

“You were sick?” Brendon asked, hand going back to Ryan’s shoulder. “Is that where you’ve been?”

“You noticed I was gone?”

“You didn’t expect me to just wish you away, did I?” Brendon said, laughing. “I told you I enjoyed having the opportunity to kiss you.” Already he was off with a start, keeping their progressing friendship exactly where it had been Saturday night and not letting it slip an inch backwards. “Honestly, I was starting to worry I had freaked you out.”

“No. Everything’s fine.”

“Again. I didn’t ask that so I know you are lying.” Brendon raised one eyebrow and leaned against the wall behind him, giving him a broader view of the boy in front of him. “Try again.”

“I wasn’t freaked out.” Ryan said firmly. He wasn’t about to have someone challenge him or try to take away what he felt. “I was _fine_. If I was, I would have told you.”

“Okay. Okay… Sorry.” Brendon held his hands up. “So it wasn’t the kiss. What is it then?”

“I’m _fine_.”

“I appreciate the valiancy, but I have four older siblings. I know bullshit when I hear it.” He folded his arms across his chest and admired his nails again. “So, I play this game pretty well.”

“You have four siblings?” Ryan repeated. Brendon was observant because he spent his entire life trying to decode the secrets around him. It was a skill Brendon was practically born with. He wasn’t just especially observant for Ryan; he didn’t know if that made him feel better or far less special.

“Yeah, big Mormon family. That’s not the point. My point is I’m just as good at this as you are.” Brendon said. “What’s wrong? You haven’t been here in a few days and are wearing the exact same thing I _last_ saw you in.”

“It’s a black shirt.” Ryan countered, trying to make him doubt his correct assumption. “You can’t possibly—”

“It flatters you.” Brendon said softly, picking at his thumb nail. “I remember it. You looked really cute.” Cute. Ryan froze, words sputtering on his lips as he tried to push past the sentence. He had been called hot but never cute. He had been fucked but never kissed. Everything with Brendon so far proved to be something Ryan was clueless about.

“Uh… Well, still. I—” Ryan couldn’t remember what he was trying to rebut. “Uh.” Brendon cocked his head at Ryan’s failed attempt to push past the comment. He was amused by Ryan’s speechlessness. He saw his lack of words as a preamble to his true reaction, waiting for Ryan to continue; Pete used to take it as Ryan’s complete answer—just silence. He wouldn’t remain silent this time. “You are too.”

“What? In _this_?” Brendon wasn’t shocked by the compliment, responding like he was already expecting it. “You should see me without my work clothes.” _Oh_. “I mean, in different clothes that aren’t these. I didn’t mean to sound like…” Brendon spoke quickly for once, waving his hands around between his body and Ryan’s.

“I didn’t think that.” Ryan said. “Although now I am.” The accidental slip of the tongue worked almost too well. Ryan was curious which sibling taught him that trick.

“You are?” Brendon finally lost his coy charm, his eyes going wide as he whispered.

“You brought it up.” Ryan defended, suddenly hearing Pete’s voice in his head as it grumbled behind him. _Slut slut slut_. Slut for only speaking in silences. Slut for hiding behind man-made walls. Slut for his naïve romanticism over a first kiss.

“I know I did—But I didn’t mean to—” _Slut slut slut_. “Didn’t expect that answer.” Ryan clenched his jaw, trying to hide his cringe. He should have stayed silent. “How about I just kiss you again and work from there?”

“Here?” Ryan stepped back and eyed Pete as if he was a motion-sensitive bomb, constantly judging the distance and movement between Brendon and Ryan.

“No! Not here.” Brendon laughed and soothed Ryan, the sound resting on his shoulders, weighing him back down to Earth. “Later. We’ll get there.”

“Will’s leaving the hospital.” Ryan said. “And I don’t plan on breaking up another fight for you any time soon.”

“There are such things as _dates_. Ever been on one?” He was teasing, but Ryan couldn’t bite his tongue.

“No.”

Brendon didn’t hesitate. “Well, how about you be my date to Will’s dinner party?”

“Does that even count?”

“I’ll be holding your hand under the table the whole time, so yes. It does.” He chuckled and grinned at Ryan, looking absolutely poster-perfect against the wall.

Ryan interrupted his melodic laugh sharply. “Why are you like this to me?” Brendon looked confused as Ryan shuffled in front of him. He crossed his arms and tried to not appear to be flattered to both Brendon and Pete. “So… _perfect_. You aren’t letting things be…” Unsaid. Slow. One-sided. “weird. You aren’t letting me be awkward.”

“Easy to say the right things when you’ve done it all before.”

Ryan recoiled, his hands dropped as grimace formed. “Are you _bragging_?” Was Brendon mocking Ryan’s naivety, reading his secrets and weaknesses only to insult him when he was obviously already crawling along the ground? Was this when Ryan stopped being cute and became foolish, an eighteen-year-old with no dating experience and only one kiss branding his lips.

“No, I just mean….” His eyes traveled over Ryan’s shoulder, a door slamming and Dallon striding in, looking between his wrist watch and clock on the wall. He looked ready to scold the passage of time itself. “You don’t think I was ever the awkward Mormon kid, sputtering at the first boy who told me _I_ was cute? You think Pete hasn’t?” He lifted his eyebrows before pushing off the wall and walking towards the door, waving to William coming back towards Ryan, and passing Dallon on his way back to the floor. His hips swayed obnoxiously.

Pete always presented himself as Ryan’s first, someone with all the answers to slowly teach Ryan, but never as someone who was once inexperienced himself. He never let that wall down. Even as Ryan feared discomfort and awkwardness on his own end, Pete would disregard his own past to appear less naïve and clueless. Pete had his own time to stumble, fail, and find confidence before moving on. Pete had the chance to grow into his own. Why wasn’t Ryan allowed the same chance?

“Why does he walk like that?” Pete muttered, standing from the couch. “I mean, I _get it_. You like dudes. You don’t have to put it on blast like that.” The hypocrisy went unsaid as Ryan bit his lip and refused to argue with Pete; he used the fact he was also attracted to girls skillfully lie and cover his tracks, but Ryan only had the truth or the lie, never both to twist around, fooling everyone and anyone he wanted.

“Leave him alone, Pete.” Ryan muttered. “I thought you were trying to be nice.”

“I am, but you don’t think that’s a little ridiculous? I mean. If he’s trying to hide it—”

“But he’s not.” Ryan defended, snapping his eyes up. “Not everyone is ashamed of it. Some of us are trying to be proud. Brendon is proud of being gay.” Ryan tried to back pedal from the immaturity he accidentally dealt out. “He told me so himself.”

Pete blinked. “And you don’t think he’s just trying to pick you up?”

“What happened to you shutting up the entire time? I thought you were being nice.” Pete had put the match out only to complain that Ryan had blown it out. Jealousy was going to be the worst burn so far.

“I am. And as your friend—and friend only—I am saying that I think he’s just pulling lines on you. And as someone who has done that to you, I think he’s doing a great fucking job, honestly.” He laughed quietly.

“At least he’ll kiss me.” Ryan hissed, returning the twisted smirk. “And he’s doing a great fucking job, honestly.” Ryan shouldered past Pete, nearly knocking him over. He crossed the room to the door quickly, leaving the ward and finding himself in the same hallways. Brendon was stepping out of a room, clipboard in his hand and head down. He was oblivious to Ryan at the end of the hall, his hair hanging down as he guiding his hand over the page and turning it quickly. He was focused and small. Ryan couldn’t see it clearly, but he saw all those awkward moments at once. “Brendon!” His head shot up, letting the page slip from his fingers.

“Yeah, Ryan? What happened?” He assumed bad things brought Ryan to him, but Ryan was too nervous to notice the comment.

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Just visiting again?”

“Just wanted to uh, give you this.” Ryan fidgeted closer, turning his head to kiss Brendon’s check again.

“If you want you _can_ go another three inches to your left.” He said softly, smiling. Ryan’s eyes fell to his lips, full and familiar enough to know Ryan wanted to kiss them but so foreign that staring was just enough. “Or not. I like when you just look too.”

“Sorry.” Ryan ducked his head and tucked hair behind his ear.

“Don’t be. I do my own fair share of staring.” He reached over and touched Ryan’s shoulder, lifting his gaze. “I have to get back to work though, but I’ll see you around, Ryan.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ryan nodded, twisting his hands in front of him. “I’ll go.” He began to back away but stopped at the ward door. He didn’t want to ask for Brendon’s help, already trying not to seem like he was wondering when was the next time he’d get to see him.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Ryan. Better dress nice for our first date.” He teased, walking backwards and waving the clipboard at him. “I clean up nice when I’m not pretending to be a Mormon.” And Ryan assumed he’d have a nice time when he wasn’t pretending to be someone else. Maybe this was his chance to test the waters without blowing himself out of them.


	8. Bury Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gift to YOU today is chapter 8! Admittedly, it's a transition type chapter to get to some GOOOD stuff, but there are some twists and turns. Get through this and then get ready for chapter 9!  
> As always, I love to hear your feedback either in the comments here or on my tumblr (@breakfastbeebo) xox

Ryan wasn’t sure what possessed him to get up Friday morning for school. He didn’t want to-- God knew did he not want to leave his bed— but something told him that Gabe, parked outside his house leaning on the horn, was going to ruin the dark and brooding mood of his room. It was Ryan’s first shower in nearly a week and the bagel Gabe shared on the drive to school was his first real meal. He was exhausted; body fatigued and heavy, and mind in a haze. The only promising thing was the warm meal on his horizon that evening.

“Will says to be there around five, so we can just go to my house right after school if you want. We can just hang out. Help you get dressed up to Beckett standards.” Gabe said, scanning the parking lot for an empty space.

“There’s a dress code?”

“No. But I’m a failed high school graduate secretly dating their son. I like to make a good impression.” Gabe replied. “Figured you should too.”

“Thanks.” Ryan pretended he was interested in impressing William’s parents. Although he owed the entire evening to their open arms and kind doings, Ryan couldn’t make himself send an ounce of consideration in their direction. “I thought William’s parents loved you.”

Gabe sighed and looped around the parking lot again. “William totally thinks they do—and I did too for a while, but ever since he went into the hospital, it’s just felt different. They cut me out, you know? I’m Will’s longest friend and it was like I didn’t _care_. Thank God William became friends with Brendon or else I would never have gotten any updates.” Brendon was charming the entire Palo Verde high school one member at a time.

“He does really seem to like you guys.” Ryan nodded, stating the obvious. He didn’t want to make any other commentary on the situation and the friendship silently growing between him and Brendon. Ryan was positive no one noticed how they got along; everyone was far too focused on William’s changing condition.

“Will and Brendon had a lot in common at first.” Gabe shrugged. Ryan waited for Gabe to explain, disliking the way the thought hung in the air. Ryan waved it away with a grimace.

“Boys is not a common interest.”

“I didn’t say that.” Gabe laughed. “But you have to admit, not many other Academy volunteers would have let us in. If it wasn’t for Brendon, we probably wouldn’t have been able to visit him.”

There were a lot of things that wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t met Brendon. Ryan did owe his life that much. Ryan couldn’t have imagined how all their lives might have been redirected if they had run into Dallon in the lobby instead of being rescued by Brendon. William would probably still be in the hospital, alone in his room; Ryan would probably still be tied up with Pete, hopelessly curious about the boy he helped from being pummeled in the boys’ locker room; Ryan wouldn’t have had a memorable Halloween; maybe his dad would’ve still been home.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’ve been lucky.” Ryan grabbed his bag from the floor as Gabe pulled into a parking space finally. He still felt uneasy driving to school with Gabe, never filling the void William’s hospitalization made. “When… When is Bill supposed to be coming back?”

“He’s going to come back to school in December. Only like three or four weeks. After Homecoming week.” Gabe said. Ryan had to struggle to hold back an aggravated groan. “Homecoming is not that scarring, Ryan. Relax.” It was a sore subject every November and Ryan never moved from his stance, no matter the attempt to convince him.

“It is.” Ryan said, opening the door and getting out of the car. “I went last year and hated every one of the fifteen minutes I was there.”

“Okay well, that doesn’t count.” Gabe called after him, getting out of the car and stumbling over his own two feet. “That’s because you went by yourself. Maybe this year it will be different. This year you could have a date.” Gabe tried to be subtle and keep to his locked-lipped secret, but it was obviously physically hurting him.

“We are not talking about this, Gabe. You don’t know me well enough to play matchmaker.” Ryan scoffed away the comment and began to walk faster, hoping to get to his locker and to Latin within the second.

“I didn’t say that! Hey—would you just listen?” Gabe grabbed his shoulder and Ryan jerked backwards. “All I’m saying is corny, stupid high school dances are only nice if you are with someone that makes every boring moment more alive, just by being there.” The sentiment almost made Ryan gag. “I’m not saying you _have_ to bring… _whoever_ you want. I’m just saying it really does make things seem a lot less horrible.”

“You didn’t just explain school dances, Gabe.” Ryan said. “You just described being single and lonely in general. Thanks for the reminder.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Gabe sighed, letting his head fall back as he groaned. “I’m just saying to take your head out of your ass and ask a fucking boy out for once in your damn life. A boy. Any boy. I know you know a few.” Gabe said. “ _I_ know quite a few.”

“I don’t want to hear this, Gabe. I’m not taking anyone to that dance. I’m not going.” He couldn’t take Brendon anyway if he somehow said yes to the outing; it would be so obvious he was someone’s date since he didn’t go to Palo Verde. The only person he could remotely get away with bringing was Pete—but that wasn’t going to happen. No matter how lonely he felt, Pete had slammed that door in his face and Ryan wasn’t about to let it open back up. He’d blow the dance off, probably loiter in the gas station parking lot, pretending he was out—although the pretending only mattered if his father was actually home to notice.

“You aren’t going to let me talk to you about this, are you?” Gabe said, laughing to himself. Ryan shook his head and gripped his backpack straps tighter. “Fine, I won’t say anything else. I get it.” Gabe placed a hand on Ryan’s back. It was gentle and a resignation from his attempt to open Ryan up and do the same in return. It was a kind hand on his back that began to firmly steer him closer to his side, his hand slipping around his shoulder. “Just act like we’re deep in discussion.”

“We are, Gabe. What are you talking about?” Ryan said, trying to shoulder his hand off of him. “Although this discussion is _over_.”

“Hey guys! What’s going on?” Pete sidled Ryan and Gabe, his voice obnoxious and trying to blanket the awkwardness made by his sudden appearance, and the slow staggering of a girl beside him, clanking forward on crutches. “Nice to see you back at school, Ryan.”

“Yeah.” Ryan muttered, looking at Gabe instead of Pete.

“You guys both know Vicky, right?” Pete asked, motioning to her.

“Yeah.” Ryan repeated. “Sorry about your leg.”

“You weren’t one of the stupid girls who missed all one-hundred and twenty pounds of me coming at them.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Although, I appreciate the sentiment, Ryan.”

His name curdled in her mouth. She meant no malice, giving him a smile as she thanked him for his mild concern, but his name sounded broken coming from her. She said it delicately. She said it with kindness. She said it with hesitation. Her and Pete were too close of friends for her to mean it that way; she must have been covering something.

“Nice to see you getting around much faster.” Gabe noted, watching her work her crutches with skill.

“I’m trying.” Vicky said. “Hey, where’s the other guy you’re always with?” She looked at Pete, searching for William’s name. “Shouldn’t he be back from the hospital? I heard he got better.”

“Better?” Gabe echoed.

“He had a really bad stomach virus, right? Someone said they saw him throwing up in the office trashcan.” Vicky kept looking at Pete, who seemed completely removed from the situation, just letting Vicky and the two of them talk. He was listening, but he wasn’t going to respond.

“Oh, yeah. He’s better. Might be home for a little longer though.” Gabe nodded. “You know, build up his uh, his immune system.”

“Hope it’s a speedy recovery.” She smiled before looking away, having to focus on the approaching curb. “Pete, grab the door for me?”

“Of course, babe.” Pete said softly, stepping out from their lineup to grab the door. “Ladies first.”

“Why don’t we go in the side door?” Gabe muttered, steering Ryan away and marching him along the sidewalk. “I’m less likely to get detention that way.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryan said, lowering his voice only to match Gabe’s.

“I want to smack Pete into next week, that’s what.” Gabe growled. “I can’t believe he’s choosing _that_ tactic.”

“What are you talking about, Gabe?” Ryan asked, still under his arm and following his footsteps, but not his conversation.

“What Pete’s doing. It doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t? He’s holding a fucking door!”

“Wow. I didn’t think you fell that deeply into denial, Ryan.” Gabe shook his head, still looking ahead as if looking out for Ryan further.

“What.” Ryan deadpanned, not following Gabe through the door. “What are you talking about, Gabe? I’m not a mind reader.”

“Vicky.” Gabe said. “He’s trying to throw her in your face.”

“Vicky and Pete aren’t together; he’s told me he’s never been interested.” Ryan scoffed, knowing that Pete had been honest at least that once, lying next to Ryan in his bed, parents out grocery shopping for a dinner neither of them were going to be home for.

“And you don’t think he _wants_ you to remember that?” Gabe seemed annoyed again with Ryan’s inability to catch up with his racing thoughts. “Ryan. He’s trying to play the jealousy card. He wants you to want him back, simply because you can’t have him now. Make you forgive his dumb ass.”

“Who even does that?” Ryan said, rolling his eyes. There was too much thought involved to even arrive at that thought process; Pete just wasn’t that smart.

“People who are jealous themselves.”

“No.” Ryan laughed, going through the door and trying to leave the accusation behind. “There’s no way.”

No way Pete was jealous of what was happening in Ryan’s life. He was so damn clueless and self-centered that he heard Ryan fight with his father, lied to him to get him out of the house, forced him to pry into William’s business, left him bitter after mocking Brendon for being out, and still thought he had the grounds to be jealous because Brendon took interest in catching up with him and Ryan didn’t want him back after denying him satisfaction for months. Ryan was an orphan in his own home, clinging to the small ropes thrown out to him in the form of dinner parties and promised dates, and Pete was already scheming of a way to make things worse. He still saw Ryan’s life and refused to see the red flags Ryan had picketed his walls with. Pete wasn’t jealous, he was angry. He was hurt and wanted to make Ryan hurt too. Ryan accepted it as a fair trade; it was the only kind they ever made.

“I won’t try to convince you, but just be aware.” Gabe resigned, fishing into his pocket. His phone was vibrating and Ryan didn’t need to be told who it was. “I have to take this.”

“Tell Will I said hi.”

“Hey Bill, what’s wrong? You should still be sleeping.” Gabe turned to begin walking away to his own locker. “Wait, talk slower, baby. What do you mean… That doesn’t make any sense.” The conversation faded down the hallway as Gabe continued to his locker on the other side of the school.

Ryan wasn’t interested in prying into William’s business anymore and returned his focus back to himself and his books. He carefully swapped his worn folders and crammed textbooks to prepare for his morning classes. He was in need of new folders, but became aware that he had no way of getting any with the fifty cents sitting at the bottom of his backpack and electric bills no doubt about to show up in his mailbox sometime soon. His hair was washed and his clothes were clean, but how long would it be before he couldn’t even say that about himself? He had AP tests he hoped to pay for, getting college credit when it was about ninety percent cheaper. Getting college credit while he still could, the dream of going to college most likely disappearing like the dust following his father’s car down the desert road.

The bell rang, but Ryan didn’t move. He was staring at his locker, home remedies for rips and tears along his books and folders. He had no pictures of his friends. He had no faces to ground him. He had no one that saw what he was seeing. He was too far deep to try to reach up for help. He had dug himself so deep the walls had begun to cave in on him. The other students shuffled around him, and even as the hallways drained into the classrooms, Ryan felt like he was drowning.

A passing teacher tried to inquire what he was doing, asking about his mood and if he was “okay”. Ryan closed his locker and started walking wherever his feet took him. He was damn lucky it was Latin class. Spencer was already sitting, feet stretched out and resting on Ryan’s seat, assuming he wouldn’t show.

“Am I supposed to sit on the floor?”

“Shit! Ryan! Hey, haven’t seen you! Is everything okay? Someone said you were sick? But you didn’t answer _any_ of my calls. I was so fucking worried!” Spencer cried, removing his feet and waving to the chair.

“You live a few houses down.” Ryan said. “Why were you worried?”

“I stopped by twice, but I didn’t see a car. I thought you went to the hospital!” Spencer exclaimed. “And I didn’t want to go and ambush you if you were vomiting or some shit.”

“I do know how vomiting upsets you.” Ryan mumbled, taking his seat. At the front of the room, the teacher was preparing their lesson and writing conjugation charts on the board. He knew staying focused was going to be a harder task than usual that day; his stomach was churning and twisting as Spencer spoke.

“So what happened?” Spencer asked. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Home. Stomach virus or something.” Ryan shrugged his heartbreak, anxiety, and loneliness off with nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter.” The reason he was home wasn’t important, what was important was that he was there and trying to move on. He was trying to build a lie and Spencer had to stop poking around.

“You sure?” Spencer asked. “Because I’m supposed to hang with Jon before the game, but I can cancel if you need something.”

“No. I’ll be fine. I have something with Gabe anyway.”

Spencer suddenly laughed and pointed a wagging finger at Ryan. “You know, I heard the funniest rumor the other day.”

“What?” It was possibly Ryan’s least favorite start to any sentence.

“Someone said that you and Gabe were dating.” Spencer still seemed to think it was strictly hilarious, nothing disastrous appearing after people accepting not only that Gabe was with Ryan, but that Ryan was gay. Spencer kept laughing and Ryan began to feel like he was laughing at him. “That’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it’s not like Will’s disappeared!”

“Yeah.”

“People assume too much.”

“Yeah.”

Ryan was out and there nothing he could do about it. Word was spreading slow enough to make believe Ryan was ahead of it, fooling people that already knew the truth. Ryan was grabbing at the shadow, miles behind and unable to stop it. Ryan didn’t want to know how foolish he looked lying to people who already knew the truth. Every pair of eyes knew it was a façade. He was compromised.

He was hungry, tired, aching and sore, scared, and he didn’t even have a secret to cling to.

By last period, Ryan thought he was going to have holes burned into him. Eyes seemed to follow him everywhere. They watched every time someone joined his side in the hallway, speaking and smiling at him. Every time Gabe spoke to him, every time Spencer continued talking about his day, every time Pete walked by with Vicky, he felt like he was being observed. His responses to everything had to be calculated and muted. Ryan felt like he was being followed by his father constantly. He hadn’t been home in close to a week and still Ryan was being punished further. At the end of the school day, Ryan just wanted to go home—whatever the hell that meant. Ryan didn’t want to pretend to be anyone at a dinner party, pretending his friends weren’t dating and that he wasn’t charmed by the other house guest. If it weren’t for the crutches in the backseat of his car, Ryan was moments from asking Pete to drive him home, avoiding Gabe entirely in the parking lot. But, not many have the ability to pull off such a feat; even William was on the phone with Gabe half the day.

“Ryan!” Gabe had spotted him trying to hide behind lampposts. “Ryan, wait up!” Ryan didn’t. “ _Ryan!_ Hey! I know you hear me!”

Ryan waited for Gabe to come a fraction closer and hear his response. “I’m going home.”

“No, you’re not. You’re coming to my house.” Gabe announced practically to the whole world.

“No. I’m walking home.”

“What? Why?” Gabe pressed, stepping up to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not.” Ryan wasn’t; he just wasn’t. Whatever everyone thought of him was wrong. He wasn’t what they thought.

“Yes you are.”

“ _No_ , I’m not!” Ryan insisted. “I’m not.”

“Yes. You said you were.” Gabe was following Ryan, but it felt like he was being chased. “I heard you say it.” He was talking about that morning, Ryan agreeing to go to dinner at William’s, but all Ryan could see was Gabe standing in the gas station alley, hearing his secret for the first time from the serpent’s mouth.

“Shut up, Gabe!” Ryan cried, still trying to escape the parking lot. “I’m _not_! I’m not I’m not I’m not!”

“What are you talking about!”

“I’m not gay!” Ryan turned to shout in Gabe’s face and found that both the parking lot and all the other students were far behind them. Gabe stood, as if almost waiting, blinking at Ryan.

“Can I respond or are you going to shout again?” Gabe asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Because I don’t know what your problem is, but I have nothing to do with it and you’re making me late to see my recently un-hospitalized boyfriend.”

Ryan’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled to even understand what he was feeling let alone how to rationalize it to Gabe. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Gabe nodded, reaching for his shoulder. “Now are you going to explain why you _aren’t_ gay today?”

“People think we’re dating.” Ryan said, shoving Gabe’s hand off of him.

“And you think that’s a comment on _you_ being gay—sorry, them _thinking_ you’re a homosexual.” He was mocking Ryan now, but it was the only way the problem seemed smaller. “That’s more so an insult to me, actually.”

“Oh.” Was Ryan really that undesirable?

“Not that I give a fuck.” Gabe shrugged. “I still get to have dinner with Will tonight—and you are still a straight man to the student body of Palo Verde. You just happen to be friends with the school slut, apparently.”

“They don’t actually think I’m gay?” Ryan reiterated.

“It’s not speculation about your sexuality but instead people betting on when Will and I will break up.” Gabe nodded, placing his arm around his shoulder again. “There was a kid last year that was in line to make over a grand and a half if William and I broke it off before graduation.”

“People are sick.”

“People are _stupid_.” Gabe laughed. “I’m telling you, they don’t notice a fucking thing. You keep doing your thing and they’ll only know what you want them to.” Just what Ryan wanted. He could continue living another lie. The walls could cave and smother him. “Although, I’m not most people…” His voice grew quiet and Ryan knew he was going to try and bring up Homecoming again. Ryan readied his grimace.

“What.”

“You’ve seemed weird lately. Is everything okay?” Gabe asked, not trying to guess any ailments. He looked at Ryan as they began to walk to his car. “I mean, between you and Pete.” He narrowed it just enough to avoid Ryan spilling any secrets.

“Yeah. Why?” Ryan shrugged. “I told you I don’t care about Vicky.”

“No, I mean… Halloween. What I saw…” He swallowed his reimagination of the scene. “Did he hurt you or anything?”

“Who? Pete?” Ryan asked. “No… He was mostly just grabbing my shirt. Too drunk to even fight correctly.” First time Ryan had ever experienced something like that.

“Okay.” Gabe nodded his head, mulling over Ryan’s answer. “I want you to know you can tell me if anything about that is bothering you.” He was approaching the subject with unseen dignity and care; he was being uncomfortably serious. His tone gave away everything he was keeping to himself, and Gabe didn’t seem to care. “I know keeping that secret is… intense, so I just wanted to be that ear. If you need.”

Ryan felt the secret rest on his shoulders, dragging his feet along the ground. “I’m okay. Really.” And for Gabe, Ryan really wanted to be. He couldn’t ask for help now. Gabe had seen too much pain himself; Ryan couldn’t add to it with his own foolish problems, self-made and self-exasperated. “Let’s get going.” Ryan walked with Gabe to his car, silent and reeling.

Ryan couldn’t dare break the silence, knowing that he damn well deserved it; he had been so focused in his own digging, he hadn’t noticed others digging right beside him. What else had he missed? Could he have done something different that day William broke down? He heard Gabe’s concerns, he watched William struggle that morning, he was one of the last people to talk to him before he started panicking. Ryan probably could have done something if he wasn’t so caught up being mad at Pete. He was putting blinders on himself and claiming self-protection. He was harming his friends instead.

“Gabe?” He had been staring at the road for ten minutes, elbows locked and face tight.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what.”

“Not listening.” Ryan should have been apologizing for a lot more, but he wasn’t sure where to start. Or if Gabe wanted to hear it.

“It’s okay. I should have seen this coming.” He chuckled. “You aren’t a very open person. Every time I try, you just shut down. Tried a couple times.” Gabe shrugged and Ryan felt winded at his nonchalance. Gabe wasn’t nosey, he was trying to open up about his own life. William was gone and Gabe felt the void growing bigger and heavier, pulling him in, and Ryan was too angry with tunnel-vision towards his own chaos to hear Gabe’s call for help. Maybe it was why no one was hearing his own.

“No… I really should have noticed.” Ryan insisted.

“It’s okay. I don’t really talk about it all that much.” Gabe shrugged again. “It happened so long ago.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Ryan scoffed. His scar still burned every time he touched it.

“I mean, it was _right_ after I moved here. That’s ancient history.” Gabe rolled his eyes. “William and I talked about it and now I’m fine.” The memory Gabe was hiding became an “it”. Ryan couldn’t believe he had missed the obvious signals. Easy to know what to say when you’ve done it all before.

“Gabe, time doesn’t make everything go away.”

“I was fifteen. It’s not a big deal now.” Gabe pretended the empty intersection needed all his attention as he pulled out. “One jerk who had too much to say. I mean, being bi _does_ have it perks.” He laughed and it hallowed Ryan to his core. “Just confused, a slut—whatever, man. I don’t care.” He wasn’t even pretending to lie. “And I got shoved around a little. Not a big deal.”

“Gabe…”

“Listen, I don’t want to _really_ get into it right now. I just wanted to say that if you had something happen on Halloween, you can tell me.” Gabe said quickly. “That’s all. I just wanted to help you—it’s about you right now.”

“I’m okay. Thanks.” Ryan could respect when someone wanted things to stay buried. He looked straight ahead in his seat and let Gabe keep digging, hoping the secret would fall through the ground and disappear.

* * *

Once at his house, Ryan refused to borrow any of Gabe’s shirts; suddenly causing extra wash felt like a huge inconvenience for Ryan to put on Gabe. He would go to his first date in two-day jeans and the only clean long sleeve he could find. William had said once he liked the shirt so it couldn’t be that terrible. He was showing interest in their son, what more could any parent want? Although, it seemed like they were expecting a lot more from Gabe. He was dressed immaculately in a pressed gray shirt with a thin black tie. His hair had been fiddled with—and yelled at—for fifteen minutes, getting every hair into place. Control what you can, forget what you cannot.

Ryan still wasn’t sure if he should go along to the dinner party with Gabe and William. The date was sitting dormant in the back of his mind, nothing but the surfacing destruction clouding his mind as Gabe drove to William’s. How was Ryan supposed to sit at the Beckett’s dinner table and pretend nothing was happening? How could he pretend his mother was alive and his father was in his life, present and wise; that his two friends weren’t dating, just two paths that crossed once; that Gabe hadn’t just told him a secret he had kept suffocated and hidden for years, only telling William—his “best friend”; that Ryan was just an average teenage boy, about to go on his first date without telling another soul. Maybe this was a challenge Ryan wasn’t skilled enough to handle. He didn’t have enough training for a situation with so many prying eyes and curious questions. And this time, he had someone else’s secret he had to protect.

As Gabe pulled up to William’s house, William was already sitting on the curb by his mailbox. His arms were folded and resting on his knees. Gabe had the door to his car open before he even came to a complete stop. No matter his struggles, he was ready to push them aside in favor of someone else’s. At least his denial was somewhat productive.

“Bill, what are you doing out here?” Gabe asked.

“My parents are arguing.” William sighed. “And I refuse to get in the crossfire. I’m fine.” William began to stand, mustering up a smile as he waved to Ryan climbing out of the passenger side. “How are you?”

“Okay.” Ryan said, tugging his sleeves over his hands. “We’re okay.”

“Just okay?” He echoed. “That’s unlike the both of you.” He meant Gabe only, but Ryan enjoyed the inclusion in the typical disposition.

“It’s nothing. Just… a lot of stuff on my mind right now.” Gabe waved it away like the nightmare was materializing in front of him. William’s hand grabbed onto his, lacing his fingers between Gabe’s immediately.

“Again?” He whispered. “This is the third time this week.” Ryan hovered by the car, invading a conversation that was still mostly silent. “Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing happened. Just.. sometimes it bothers me. I’m fine.” Gabe said, leaning forward and kissing William lightly. William looked at Gabe with unconvinced eyes, but remained quiet. “Let’s go have dinner.”

“Aren’t we expecting someone else?” Ryan asked slowly. Ryan wasn’t sure he had enough pride for it to just be the three of them.

“Brendon’s already here… Hiding in my upstairs powder room.” William laughed. “Was washing his hands when the fight started… Not a fan of screaming adults either. He is excited to see you again, though.” William shot Ryan a peculiar smile; boys were a common interest.

“D-Did he say that?”

“He didn’t have to.” William said, walking towards the front door, one ear tuned for continued shouting. “I’d recognize nervous sputtering anywhere, remember?”

“Didn’t know you two were that friendly.” Gabe noted, looking at Ryan with a smug expression.

“We, uh, we hung out at the football game.” Ryan shrugged, the lie tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could recover. “Met in the bathroom.”

“Oh. That kind of friendly.” William said, still straining an ear to hear inside.

“No—not like that. I—I literally just ran into him. He was… he was talking to someone else and he just said hello. That’s it. We aren’t that kind of friends.”

“So you’re friends?”

“ _Friendly_.” Ryan repeated. “That’s all.” Ryan wasn’t lying all that much. He wasn’t sure of anything he knew about Brendon to truly consider him a friend, but knew some parts of him well enough to advance him past acquaintance. They had kissed, but Ryan had never seen him outside of his school uniform, in civilian clothes; he had never spoken to Brendon _about_ Brendon. He didn’t know anything about him. After all, this _was_ just the first date. Everything was just beginning, just as everything else in Ryan’s life was ending.


	9. Gone Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you have all been waiting for: the first date and dinner party. There isn't much I want to say before this except to leave my typical place of contact-- you're probably going to have something to say-- find me @breakfastbeebo on tumblr.  
> Hope you're ready for a Beckett family dinner.

William eased his front door open slowly, the tense voices of his parents rushing out like a gust of wind. Ryan stumbled back, not having heard parents arguing in a few years. His stomach felt sick and his tongue felt heavy. He felt like a kid again. He felt jealous; he wanted two parents that could be in the same room together and fight. Fighting meant they at least wanted change or a compromise. Leaving meant they had given up on everything, including their son. He felt vulnerable, like he was caught bleeding all over William’s front stoop. The voices cut deep, slashing through Ryan.

“I’m going to stay on the porch.” Ryan said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear them… I mean, it’s none of my business.”

“They’re just bickering.” William said, waving the concern away. It was always just “bickering”. That’s what Ryan’s mom told him. The problem was when they couldn’t _stop_ bickering. One day they’d start and then they’d never stop.

“Still… I don’t feel comfortable.” Ryan reiterated, trying to take a different approach. “I don’t want to.”

“Ryan, I’m not going to leave you on my front porch.” William said. “That’s crazy. Just come inside. Having guests will post-pone the rest of the squabble. It’ll be fine.” He held the door open, his free hand extended to Ryan. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon.” Fuck. Ryan _was_ hungry. He stepped forward with reluctance, William squeezing his arm as he passed by him, Gabe following close behind.

William’s house was always in a magazine-ready, ridiculous style and condition. It made Ryan wonder if the strict rigidness of the house’s cleanliness had anything to do with William’s anxiety. There was no way that much order was healthy. The coffee table books probably had their own reference section and dewy decimal system. William had a kid brother, but by the pristine condition of the hard wood floor and white walls the known fact appeared to be a lie. It was actually humorous in a way to see the three of them, wiping their feet on the door mat, all mix-matched and “unkept” by all standards; William with his long hair and choker, Gabe already accidentally stumbling into the coffee table, and Ryan awkwardly trying to remember how to play the straight best friend. He had William and Gabe for models, fortunately.

“Mom, Dad! Gabe and Ryan are here!” William called, walking through the house, following the shouting. “Everyone’s here!” The shouting stopped as William’s began to echo into the hallway.

“Oh! Didn’t hear you come in!” William’s mother stepped into William’s path, trying to give them all a bright smile to push away the obvious awkwardness forming.

“No kidding.” Gabe said, leaning into William quickly. Their shoulders brushed before Gabe was upright again and sharing an unamused look with him.

“Be nice, Gabe.” William said, reaching over to slap his chest. He was still worried about him and couldn’t put away his affection as fast as it was required. The action went unnoticed for its intimate implication, but was seen as Gabe’s first strike. The disdain was palatable in the air, Ryan trying to step up and stand between them, if only to lessen the impact of Gabe’s knee-jerk comment.

“Nice to see you again, Gabriel.” William’s dad spoke reluctantly, acknowledging him if only to pass the conversation along. Ryan’s parents never met any of his friends, but he wondered if this was how it went when they were arguing; they hated each other enough that their negativity had to poison the lives of their children.

“William,” His mother tried to intervene before Gabe noted the disgust and spoke back, his posture already changing as he stood behind William, where he couldn’t see him. “where’s that other boy?”

“Oh, he’s upstairs… freshening up for dinner.” William said. It sounded like Brendon, the Mormon part of him at least from what Ryan thought he knew.

“Tell him to come down, would you?” She said. “I want to hear all about this nice boy of yours.” She touched William’s arm before going back down the hall, presumably towards the kitchen if the clanging pots were any indication. William’s father left soon after, leaving his grimace and glare behind.

“Nice boy of yours?” Gabe repeated, looking at William with furrowed eyebrows. “Who is she talking about?”

“She can’t be talking about Brendon.” William muttered, turning to Gabe for reassurance. “Can she? Today is basically the first time she’s met him off the clock.” Ryan stood to the side as Gabe and William exchanged looks, having the same conversation they weren’t allowed to have out loud in fear of being overheard. Best friends didn’t dispute the sudden inclusion of another boy.

“Why don’t I go get him?” Ryan offered, pointing behind him, having spotted the stairs as he walked in. “He’s probably waiting.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Get him…. What is she fucking talking about?” William waved Ryan away before turning back into Gabe. Both were too distracted by the well-being of the other to process their confusion correctly. Gabe was still shaken by finding William already frustrated and upset with his parents and new environment, and William knowing that Gabe’s old trauma had carved a new wound.

Ryan walked back to the stairs, careful to not leave a single finger print on a wall or stair banister. The carpet padding the middle of the stairs were a familiar rose color, reminding Ryan of the ghost hiding in his own bathroom at home. With hope, the one Ryan was receiving from William’s bathroom was far friendlier. Once getting to the top of the stairs, Ryan realized he didn’t know where the bathroom actually was.

The hallway was long and split in two directions, doors lining the walls. Only a handful were open, which left the rest to be possible candidates for the bathroom. He walked down the hallway, trying to appear as a ghost. Ryan didn’t want to make a single sound and shatter the unused and vacant appearance of the second floor. There were portraits of William and his family and separate photo ops hanging of just the Beckett siblings. It was foreign to Ryan, the family setting unseen in his youth, never getting old enough to know a full family experience. William’s senior picture hung beside a school picture of his younger brother. His graduation cap held in his hand resting across his chest. The picture was taken in late August, but somehow the boy in the picture was a stranger to Ryan. So much had changed from the hot, wasted summer months. Ryan had been there every day since that picture; he missed everything. That much was becoming apparent.

Ryan continued down the hall, trying to push William’s fading smile from his mind. One more friend he had been blatantly ignoring. How many times had William tried to open up to him, and Ryan was only starting to consider things after looking after a photograph. Ryan had to settle his debts before he could ask for any favors of his own. Ryan was about to begin knocking on doors, hoping someone would answer, when he heard his first sound upstairs: sniffling. It was the door just under his fingertips, just under his nose.

“Hello?” He knocked with only a knuckle. “E-Everything okay in there?”

“Just a second!” Brendon responded quickly, the faucet twisting on and rushing water chasing his words. “Contact trouble.” Ryan didn’t know he wore glasses, didn’t think he did, actually. The lock clicked before Ryan could knock again, the door swinging out from under his hand. Brendon stood behind his hand, eyes locking with it as it nearly met his eyesight. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Ryan said. He lowered his hand again, shoving it into his pocket. He ducked his head, already embarrassed by the unfiltered attention and attraction he was receiving and feeling, but he had been blind nearly all his life, as he was noticing; he wanted to meet the rest of his life with at least some attentiveness. He prepared himself to look up at Brendon, but didn’t expect to see red and puffy eyes with tear streaks, and raw patches under his nose where it had been wiped repeatedly. “Hi.” Ryan greeted this new Brendon with a soft voice.

“Sorry. I was up here washing my hands and…” Brendon rolled his eyes and laughed wetly. “My contacts just started acting up. What the fuck, am I right?” He wiped the loose tears trying to blow his cover. “Just the perfect time to have trouble seeing.”

“Well, in case your eyes and the mirror aren’t working, you look really nice out of your work clothes.” Ryan tried to offer a compliment, the same way Brendon would; without making a blatant change of pace, but acknowledging that a new subject needed to arise. “I like the paisley.” Ryan reached out to poke the mauve paisley tie hanging over his chest and shirt of a complementary rosy pink.

“See, I couldn’t tell if you were a floral or paisley kind of guy.” Brendon said. “So, I went with paisley as a safe first date.” He smoothed the tie down repeatedly, head hanging to look at the pattern. “Floral is definitely a third or fourth date kind of look.”

“I like both, for the record. Floral and paisley, I mean.” Ryan said. “Just don’t have the ability to pull it off.”

“Are you kidding?” Brendon laughed with genuine surprise, the tears welled in his eyes slowly growing less and less prominent. “That long hair, those round eyes, and that smile? You’d be a knock-out.” He winked and the tears seemed to disappear. “At least, in my humble, experienced opinion.”

“What experience is that?” Ryan asked. He wasn’t a field trip or a destination; being there once didn’t make Brendon qualified suddenly. “I mean, where do you get your opinion?”

“I’ve spent my formative summers hoarding fashion magazines from my sisters.”

“Ew.” Ryan recoiled from the minor sexual implication, but began giggling under his hand.

“No! No. That’s not—” Brendon batted his hand away, a smile cracking the wrinkles forming around his tight expression. “All I meant was there isn’t a lot to do or read in a Mormon house in one-hundred and six-degree Sundays in August. I was twelve and just liked the colors, okay?”

“Right. The colors.” Ryan nodded, straightening his expression.

“You don’t get to laugh. It’s what I had to do to pass the time! What? Did you never do something like that?” Brendon was asking about Ryan’s childhood, but it barely seemed like a question, more like a reminder.

“Not really. Don’t have any siblings to steal from. No slightly questionable childhood habits.” Ryan said, stepping back to let Brendon step out of the bathroom. “Call me boring.” Terrified was a better word, but Ryan enjoyed the mirage of having a boring childhood.

“Well, Boring, do you mind escorting me to dinner? I think they are wondering where we are.” Brendon held an arm out to Ryan, checking his watch simultaneously. “Am I dinner party ready?” Ryan looked him over again, tears and redness shrinking to a minimum as he stood in the doorframe grinning.

“You look perfect.”

“I’d look better with you on my arm.” He said, slipping his arm under Ryan’s and pulling him towards the steps.

“Wait, Brendon, I don’t know.” Ryan had let Brendon regain his footing and smile away his unexplained tears, but Ryan had far too many waiting to well in his eyes to go marching into the dining room with Brendon. The Beckett’s were well-known people. They could get to his father before Ryan could—wherever the hell he was. “Brendon, I don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t want to say anything to anyone.” Ryan grabbed the stair banister, nearly hanging down the stairs as he tried to keep out of the sight of the first floor.

“Not even your friends?” Brendon asked. “You _know_ Gabe and Will won’t care.”

“But he has parents.” Ryan said, begging him to stop moving. “And I don’t have any more left to be annoyed with me. Please. Stop.”

“At least hold my hand under the table?” Brendon asked, releasing Ryan and sliding his hand along his arm and brushing over his hand. “Don’t let unseeing eyes ruin the things you _can_ see.” Brendon looked at Ryan with pleading eyes, but wanting an outcome that benefited Ryan more than himself. He wanted Ryan to be brave, even for a moment, but with no one at home to answer his distress calls and no money to his name while the entire school was a millisecond of gossip away from figuring him out, Ryan didn’t have the energy to be brave. Not today.

“That would be a whole lot more poetic and convincing if you didn’t just tell me about your preteen habit of collecting women’s magazines.” Ryan muttered, continuing down the stairs.

“ _Fashion_ , not women’s magazines. There is a huge difference.”

“Such as?”

“There were more men in the fashion ones.” Brendon muttered, passing Ryan on the stairs and reaching the landing with a short jump from the second step. His right ankle buckled for a moment, Brendon easing his weight over to his other foot without a moment of fear or surprise. Ryan remembered Brendon’s story of a hurt ankle in a skateboard fall as he tried to gain Ryan’s trust; he had thought it was a lie to get Ryan to admit to his own injury. Brendon had been more honest than Ryan had been noticing. First William, then onto Gabe, and finally Ryan was opening his eyes to the Brendon he had been talking to the entire time without realizing. It was a true version of Brendon interfacing with a false Ryan. No wonder none of the openness reached him; it was like talking into fog, you assumed there was something a few feet in front of you to hear and reciprocate, but really it was miles away, doing the exact same thing.

Ryan eased down on his healed foot and followed Brendon through the house, trying to rescan his two friends waiting for him at the dinner table. William was facing them, already sitting at the dining table and watching Gabe help carry food to the table, eager to win approval. The senior portrait was still an old reflection of William, his face thinner and hair falling around his shoulders with less bounce it used to. Ryan accepted the new version with a grin.

“Alright boys, everyone take a seat!” Mrs. Beckett encouraged them all by side-swiping Brendon and nearly shoving him down into the chair beside William. Gabe looked at the two of them with betrayal; he wasn’t even supposed to sit next to his boyfriend—the boy he had been planning to marry before worrying about his ability to mentally handle the rest of their lives together. “Brendon, sit here by me. I want to know everything. We’ve barely gotten a chance to talk about anything other than William.”

“I was in the hospital, Mom.” He said, trying to be polite. Ryan and Gabe stood across the table from the two of them, somewhat abandoned and left to themselves.

“And he was the one who selflessly was there day and night—I want to know about _him_ now.” She grinned. The attention was forced but the motive was blurred.

“I’m not that fascinating, I promise.” Brendon laughed nervously, trying to shrug off Mrs. Beckett’s hands. “Just tried to help Will at the time.”

“You spent so much time with him, though. This is the only way I can think to thank you.” She said. Gabe and William exchanged another set of silent words before Gabe retired to the chair across from Brendon. Brendon was only there because he understood what it meant for William to have no one lift a single finger to stop and let Gabe, his boyfriend, come visit him and wish him better. Brendon wasn’t there to watch diligently; he was there to let Gabe do that.

Everyone found their unknowingly assigned seats and looked over the full casserole dishes and fine china at one another. William’s parents were taking their places at the heads of the table, oblivious to the conversation being shouted across the table through raised eyebrows and drumming fingers. Mrs. Beckett sat at the head of the table near Brendon, Gabe to her other side, and left Ryan and William Beckett Jr. to sit at the other end.

Viewing William in the same light he viewed his own duplicate name skewed his vision of William; he didn’t think of William as living under a genetic heel, ready to step on him. He never thought of William to know anything of what that felt like. Granted, Ryan didn’t know if he even did, but the possibility never even appeared to Ryan. The stark differences between the two men was suddenly undeniably familiar and unsettling. The way William’s eyes tracked his father’s body language, replicating it in minute ways to try and fool him with his own disguise; the way William had dressed himself without any clothing given or favored by Gabe, except the choker his parents had grown to accept and dislike; changing his language to sound more like the son he thought he invited to the dining table, forgetting he had just come from a psych ward.

“So, Brendon, where do you go to school?” Mr. Beckett asked, beginning to spoon steamed vegetables onto his plate. Ryan tried to look eager to listen and supportive to the interrogation, but the steam rising from the vegetables being passed under his nose caught all his attention.

“Hinckley Academy. It’s the local all boy prep.” Brendon nodded as he answered, as if congratulating himself on not fumbling with his words.

“All boys, huh?” Mrs. Beckett echoed. “How is that?” Everyone stopped clinking their silverware for a moment to analyze her tone, Brendon taking the longest.

“Uh, it’s fine. I mean, I’ve never been to public school. I wouldn’t know what it’s like.” Brendon shrugged. “Is going to school with girls any different?” He turned to William, laughing.

“Depends who you ask.” William muttered, winking. “I don’t mind it, truthfully. Gabe?” William handed the question off teasingly, trying to make light of their sudden single status for the evening. “How is it?”

“Dandy.” He deadpanned, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate with enough force to get a small splash on Ryan’s shirt.

“Must be good if you’ve chosen to repeat the twelfth grade.” Mr. Beckett said.

“Dad!” William gasped, gawking at his father with round and shocked eyes. It was the first time a venomous word had slipped out about Gabe—and technically about William—and Ryan got to see it firsthand. He finally got to see what his own face looked like seven years ago. “Gabe’s on the honor roll this semester. He’s doing great.”

“Easy to do when you’ve learned it all before.” He muttered. “And honor roll shouldn’t impress the _valedictorian_.”

“This isn’t about me and Gabe.” William was defensive before they had even accused them of anything. “We have guests.” Although, Ryan was yet to be acknowledge by either parent. He wasn’t complaining, but wasn’t sure when his presence would add more awkwardness to the conversation.

“You’re right.” His mother agreed. “Back to Brendon. All boys, huh? How do school dances work? Do you have any?” Ryan wasn’t sure who’s mind went immediately to high school dances as their concerned next topic, but Ryan was in no mood to raise his confusion; he was too busy occupying himself with food. He replaced sealing his lips with a cigarette with a metal utensil. It silenced his mouth and grumbling stomach.

“We have a sister school that comes for the night. You are supposed to ask one of the girls, but, well. I’ve never gotten around to it.” He laughed, confidence blending with the anxiety emanating from William. His parents must have known Brendon was gay too; he was never quiet or boxed in about it. If they spent any one minute with Brendon and William in the same room, they should have figured it out. “I just go alone.”

“Alone?” His mother gasped, but it sounded all too pleased. “You’re too much of a catch to go alone, honey!”

“Plenty of guys out there.” Gabe said, lifting a fork to toast him. His words lingered around William, his eyes straining to not find his and grin. “Maybe one day.” Maybe one day Gabe would be allowed to openly take William to dances and school functions too instead of just being his “carpool” or “petty date”.

“Why not take Will?” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“Excuse me?” Gabe was choking on his forkful of broccoli and Ryan reached over to pat him on the back. “Why Will?”

“Yeah, why me?” William added, arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t until Ryan tried to find somewhere else to look than the impending explosion that he noticed William’s plate was completely empty. Ryan couldn’t eat either when he felt nauseous.

“You can’t do much better.” His father noted, lightly pointing his fork at William.

“He’s a _stranger_.” William cried, thrusting his arms out towards Brendon. Brendon nodded in agreement, rolling his eyes at his own sudden strangeness. Ryan placed his fork down and folded his hands on the table, wishing he had a hand to grip under the table as promised. He wished he had gone down to the dining room on Brendon’s arm. If he had been brave, he could have put the brakes on the train and stopped this pile-up collision. “Why are you trying to set me up with him? This isn’t an arranged fricking marriage, mom.”

“We didn’t say that. We aren’t like… other families.” His father, turned his head towards William in just the right way to put the back of his head directly towards Gabe. “We don’t believe in that kind of ancient practice. Unlike _others_.”

“You want to say that again.” Gabe growled, placing his fork down to empty his hands for a fight. “I’m Jewish, asshole.”

“ _Gabe_.” William hissed. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t sit here and be insulted.” Gabe said, using a drastically different tone with William than he had been with his parents. “And you are allowed to make your own decisions.”

“We just want what’s best for you.” Mrs. Beckett tried to stand in front of the train wreck and find its inner beauty; the billowing of the smoke, screaming passengers, crinkling metal that looked just like an oil painting. “William, your accident really made us worry about your future.”

“Why is my future only about who I’m dating?” William retorted. “I am my own person. And I will love who I want and be happy for every second.” He pushed his chair back and stood defiantly. “I’m not a liability you have to hand to someone else. I don’t have time for this.” He stormed away from the table, throwing his napkin on his plate.

“Will, wait!” Gabe was the first to react, standing and watching him disappear around the corner. After a suffocating moment, they heard an upstairs door slam shut. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.” He spoke down to William’s parents in a way Ryan swore he had envisioned in a dream once towards his own parents. “Bill isn’t going to get better if he’s dating someone. Being alone had nothing to do with his breakdown. You did. Both of you. You make him feel _this_ fucking big.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together, shoving the hand in their faces. “You make him feel worthless and I’ve been working with him for _years_ to try and make him see he is greater than what he sees in that mirror. And you ruin it.”

“What do you know about my son? You aren’t good enough for him.” The pain that passed Gabe’s face made it clear the words had been swirling in his head before.

“I’ve been in love with your son for five years.” Gabe said. “And I refuse to let you tell him that he isn’t enough to be loved.” He pushed his chair back and started for the hall. “Fuck both of you.”

The table sat in stunned silence as Gabe’s footsteps treading the stairs, the sound of his shuffling steps meeting William’s hovering just over their heads. Brendon was staring at his plate motionless, the sound of his foot banging against his chair leg the only sound brave enough to emerge in the silence. Ryan used his fork to talk for him, tapping it against the plate every time he went to bring it to his mouth. Both sounds were measured and slotted between each other like a pendulum that went farther and farther out every time; eventually it would just start spinning. William’s parents were looking at each other, trading sighs and mutterings of who was right and what they should have done differently. Neither mentioned leaving the topic go undiscussed. Neither mentioned talking to William alone. Neither mentioned an approach that wasn’t public humiliation. Neither thought to include Brendon before ambushing him at their dinner table. Neither thought to consider the boy that moved across state lines with William.

Over Brendon’s tapping and Ryan’s eating, William’s voice came down the stairs again. “I can’t believe this—Gabe, I can’t. I can’t believe them. They are my parents! Why did they do this? Why! I can’t believe it. Can’t believe.” His speech began to become circular, leading into itself and repeating the same few words. Ryan could feel the tension growing in his voice, moments away from bubbling to the surface. Ryan didn’t want a repeat of what happened in the school, William heaving over the trash can, convulsing in a mix of vomiting and sobbing.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Ryan asked, thumbing towards the stairs. He had to do something the second time around. He wasn’t blind to everyone else now. He saw the signs, he saw the outcome, he saw everyone else digging beside him.

“Let me show you where it is.” Brendon jumped at the chance and nearly jumped across the table to him. He had been gifted with sight the entire time, knowing the signs and watching painfully as everyone sank lower and lower into the ground, practically digging their own graves. “Come on.” He rounded the table to Ryan and held out a hand, offering Ryan the chance to finally take it and be lead through the house on his arm. Except this time, they were chasing the sound of dry heaving and frantic hushing.

Gabe was holding William in his arms just outside the bathroom, eyes closed and oblivious to the new company. “Baby, it’s okay. Take a deep breath, I’m here. They can’t make you do anything.” There was vomit on his shoes and running down the front of his shirt.

“William, talk to us, what’s wrong.” Brendon whispered, placing a gentle hand on Gabe’s arm; his other still gripping Ryan’s hand.

“I can’t believe them. I can’t believe. They think I’m just _lonely_. They don’t understand me. I—I can’t believe.” He said, face pressed against Gabe’s chest. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“Why does he?” Ryan knew better than to ask William that question; Ryan was already tangled in the strings attached.

“It’s part of his discharge.” Brendon sighed. “His parents are the ones that agreed to take care of him and drive him to his appointments until he comes off of home-schooling and can go back to school…” Brendon dropped Ryan’s hand to touch William’s hand. “He’s stuck here.” Ryan thought having both parents leave was awful, but apparently it was easily defeated by not being able to leave your parents. William couldn’t escape the people that naively thought they were giving his life direction.

“But he won’t be alone.” Gabe whispered. “I’ll be here every fucking day for you, Will. I won’t let you face this alone.”

“I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

“I don’t care. We’re out there now.” Gabe said, petting his hair down. “Any shit you are going to get is because I’m a damn failure. And none of that is your battle to fight.”

“No.” William pulled away, trying to deny his help. Brendon’s hand was still rested on his back, slowly circling. Ryan reached forward and placed his own hand on William’s shoulder, abandoning all words of comfort. He couldn’t do anything but be there for him; Ryan had to start realizing that sometimes that was enough. “You can’t do this for me… I just… I just need to talk to them. Talk to them alone. They’ll understand.” He was wrong, but they all wanted to pretend.

“Okay. All alone.” Gabe sighed, kissing his cheek. Gabe was far too exhausted to fight, it showed in his dark eyes and falling frown. He crawled out of his own hole to try and help William out of his, hand dangling down and barely grazing William’s. “I’ll be outside, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe. I just… I just need to do this without you.” William peered over his shoulder towards the voices rising up the steps.

“Why? So they can beat you down more? I don’t trust them.” Gabe argued, heating back up. “Will, baby, I worry about you.”

“And I can’t let them see you for the first time as my boyfriend holding my hand like a baby.” William shook his head. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was in disagreement or to try and wipe the tears from his face without touching them. “I have to set them straight. They’re my parents, they’ll understand.”

“Okay.” Gabe nodded with finality. He didn’t have the energy to go back around with William again. He looked at William with the same telling look he had at the hospital, holding him at arm’s length. He was covered in William’s vomit, clothes wrinkled, and body hanging low. Gabe was going to be outside, but by all means, he was going to be with William in that dining room. “I’ll leave. Boys, let’s go.”

“Please.” Brendon said. “I’ve caused a shit-mess. I’m so sorry, William. I should have never agreed to this.”

“You couldn’t have known this was a set-up.” William barely stopped to talk as he went for the stairs. “I didn’t. Hell, I thought tonight was going to be the night I told my parents I was with Gabe… I’d bring up the hospital—actually, they would—and then I’d mention Gabe’s visits and the party. And the way he was with me when I fainted. I barely remember anything but his face, coming in and out in flashes, trying to get me to come back to him. He was there for me that one second they weren’t. I wanted them to feel _connected_ to Gabe. My _best friend_. They… They just think he’s a fuck-up. They think I am.”

“ _Will_.”

“I have to go down there.” William took the stairs slowly, like he was greeting death. No one could ignore its loitering power and presence, much like a parent. Even in death and absence, Ryan wasn’t free. Every step felt like that staircase.

“Let’s go down too.” Brendon said, waving Ryan after William. The steps creaked under their weight. The perfect house before had become an unlived house, creaking and moaning under the heavy footsteps and echoing with the raised voices. It hadn’t ever been a place to raise a family, it had been a place to contain and mold them. Ryan avoided William’s portrait again as he went for the door, pushing past Brendon and leaving Gabe behind.

Nothing Ryan had seen was remotely close to reality. He felt like he had blinders stuck beside his eyes, only able to focus on his world, mirrors shining his own blinding issues back at himself. Gabe had suffered traumatizing assault, William lived in a home of well-intended ignorance, and Brendon lived a life where crying alone in a bathroom was able to be laughed off. But, even with all the truth peeking through his blinders, Ryan was still alone at home. His mother was still dead and his father was still missing. He was still standing at the bottom of the hole. Slowly, it had begun to rain and Ryan wasn’t sure if he was going to drown or slowly float to the top.

Ryan reached the front step and tried to catch his breath without gasping, his body trying to communicate without a single word. His lungs were trying to scream without any sound. Everyone around him had been suffering and Ryan had been ignoring them. He had been making their suffering worse. He was part of the problem—his father had warned him of this. He said Ryan was selfish, only thinking of himself when he wanted to live with his mother after the divorce. He was part of the thing that drove them apart; he had no say in the matter. Ryan was the reason she died, smoking herself to death to deal with his awkward childhood and odd hobbies. Ryan was the reason his father drank. Ryan was the reason his friends felt like they couldn’t say a word to him. He was just like his father.

“Ryan?” Brendon had followed him outside, listening to Ryan’s rapid breathing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Ryan tried to swallow the tremble in his voice, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” Brendon was right, but it only made Ryan feel worse; he could notice without even facing Ryan. “What happened? Too close to home?”

“I’m fine.” Ryan repeated. “I’ll be fine.”

“You changed it to ‘will be’. So, you aren’t now.” Brendon said, stepping up beside him. “Ryan, you can tell me.”

“No. I can’t.” Ryan cried, the tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I can’t tell you anything!” Ryan was confined, water pooling around him. He was destined to drown.

“What are you talking about? Yes, you can.” Brendon said. He grabbed Ryan’s hand with both of his own. “Ryan, I really like you. Whatever it is you have to say, I want to hear.” Ryan turned to see those same round eyes looking at him with enough intensity to absorb Ryan’s entire world. In the dim lighting of the porch, Ryan couldn’t see his freckles or just how pink his frown was, but it was still a sight to behold. The boy who had found him fascinating enough to stand outside a stranger’s house and watch him cry. Brendon liked him, but he didn’t know everything about him; there was definitely something Ryan could reveal to change that.

“No.” Ryan said. “I can’t.”

“Ryan, please.”

“You don’t need my shit too.” Ryan knew that Brendon had already lied about his contacts and was upset that night, he didn’t need to feel Ryan’s pain too; he did that for a living. “I just want to go.” Ryan covered his face and stepped off the porch, slipping away from Brendon.

“Go where?” Brendon asked, stepping down to the grass.

“What do you mean?”

“Go home? Go somewhere else? Where are you off to?” He found Ryan’s flawed escape immediately.

“H—Home.” Ryan lied, not sure if he could call the building that. It was where his bed was, that was all.

“Will you let me walk you home?” Brendon asked. “I’d like to at least try to revive this first date. I can flatter you the whole time.”

“I live a few streets over… It’s a long walk. I don’t want to bother you with it.” Ryan kept walking, trying to wipe his tears with his shirt sleeve.

“No, please let me.” Brendon called after Ryan, running back on the porch for a moment. “Give me the chance. Maybe we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk about anything.” Ryan said firmly.

“Then let me tell you about the time I broke my nose.” Brendon offered, still chasing after him. His skateboard was tucked under his arm, a faster escape possible for him. He chose to walk with Ryan. “Or the time I fell off my skateboard into on-coming traffic.”

“These sound like horrible stories.” Ryan said. “How is that salvaging our date?”

“I want you to know me.” Brendon answered. “I think that’s the most exciting part about dating. You get to learn different sides to each other.”

“You don’t want to do that.” Ryan mumbled. “It only gets uglier.” Ryan was on his way to the start of William’s street, unsure if he accurately could walk himself home. He couldn’t stop. Brendon followed closely, but didn’t grab onto Ryan or touch him to try and slow him down. “I’ve been so blind.”

“It’s not your job to see everything.” Brendon countered. “That’s why you have people tell you things. That’s why you talk with your friends.”

“But I can’t just unload on them! Everything is still there when it’s over. Gabe is still traumatized! William is still living a demented hell! _You_ are still unrelentingly kind and forgiving!” Ryan cried, stopping to turn towards him. “It’s still there. Everything is still waiting for me. I can’t make it go away, and spreading it to you won’t help.”

Brendon reached out to grab Ryan’s arm, startling them both. “Don’t do that. Please, don’t.” He begged. “I grew up with four older siblings and parents a bit too old to have some bratty teenage son, and I did that. A religious mentor inadvertently broke my nose and I did that.” He spoke quickly, like Ryan was a second from disappearing. “He saw me standing up for myself… And he believed whole heartedly in ‘an eye for an eye’ and let the guy punch me back. He _stood there_ while a nearly seven-foot _maniac_ punched my lights out. He broke it in three different places and my parents still think I faceplanted off my skateboard.” Brendon stared at Ryan, eyes glistening in the low lighting of the street lamps. “I never stop thinking about that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take on anything that is bothering you.”

Ryan only saw pain on Brendon’s face. “You don’t punch first.” Ryan saw it in his eyes the first time they met and he hadn’t known. He was blind.

“Not anymore.”

“Why did you tell me that? That didn’t help me… I feel worse.” Ryan cried. “I can’t help anyone!”

“I’m not asking you to help me.” Brendon’s gripped tighter around Ryan’s arm, trying to get him to stop running. “Just… _understand_. Everyone has shit. Everyone you are ever going to meet. But that doesn’t mean that the things happening in your life aren’t important. We all have to help each other.” Brendon was begging. He was pleading with Ryan to open up to him, to talk about the damage he brought to the train wreck evening. Brendon didn’t even know about Ryan’s hesitance to walk in the front door of William’s home, his last clean shirt in his possession, the change clinking in his pocket as his last financial straw, or the emptiness waiting at home for Ryan. He didn’t know any of it, but he was asking Ryan to discuss it like he was already familiar with it. “The first time I _really_ met you, I pulled a beer bottle shard out of your foot and you trusted me with that secret.”

“Sorry you had to—”

“No. I’m glad that you didn’t just leave it in your foot! If you hadn’t said anything, your whole foot could have suffered.” Brendon said, his hand sliding down Ryan’s arm, grazing his hand. “You keep one secret in like that and everything else could fall apart.” Brendon had spoken carefully enough that Ryan had stopped walking and had finally begun to listen.

“You’ve been working on that metaphor a while, haven’t you?” Ryan eased his tight frown into a smile, laughing quietly at Brendon.

“Since Halloween.” Brendon admitted, shrugging. “You’re worth all the effort.” He was the first boy to ever admit that—or even attempt the effort.

Ryan wasn’t sure why the universe chose to let their paths cross in the locker room, Brendon’s broken nose bringing him to the point where he chose to never act against someone again in fear of being beaten as a moral punishment. Without Brendon’s past baggage, they never would have met. The horrible event was the catalyst and Brendon wanted to honor its truth and tell Ryan why they met. But Ryan couldn’t open up about why they had their first conversation, why he was limping, what that glass really was doing in his foot.

“So, you broke your nose.” Ryan said, starting to walk again. He kept his hand in Brendon’s. “Is that why it looks like that?”

“My nose hasn’t changed cosmetically, asshole. It’s just big.” Brendon laughed. “I sing a little different though.”

“You do?” Ryan turned to look at Brendon, walking beside him, staring at the sidewalk passing under their feet. Even without looking directly at him, Ryan felt him directly engaged with him.

“Very important senior member of the church choir, I’ll have you know.” Brendon said, shaking his head. “My mom plays organ for the church, so I was put in the choir. Robe and all.”

“That sounds awful.” Ryan laughed, already the story taking on a lighter tone. “I never understood organized religion, if I’m being honest.”

“Honesty is appreciated.” Brendon nodded. “And also reciprocated; I don’t get it either. I just follow the rules so everyone else is happy. I mean, you think as a volunteer working twelve-hour days I _want_ to be abstained from coffee? I don’t think so. It sucks, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“I have no religious experience.” Ryan said.

“No, I mean doing awful shit to make other people happy.” Brendon looked at Ryan with those same knowing eyes that found him under the florescent lights. He spotted another truth in him, easing it from him without Ryan even having to open his mouth, no words required.

“Oh. Yeah. Been there.” Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”

“Nothing else to say about that?” Brendon was trying to avoid prying, but was still trying to lead Ryan towards talking as he led him a few streets over to his house.

“Pete has spoken enough for himself, I think. No more ground to cover there.” Ryan said, rolling eyes. Brendon broke out laughing.

“He is a piece of work, isn’t he? I have a feeling he doesn’t like me very much.” Brendon said.

“He doesn’t like a lot of people. He’s got a hard exterior; tough to get through.” Ryan defended Pete, but had no idea why. Pete had blocked Ryan out and made him feel awful and insecure, but in the face of Brendon, it didn’t matter enough to even relive.

Brendon swung their hands forward slowly, testing the silence. “Do you miss him?”

“Miss what? Pete? No. Never.” Ryan laughed at the thought. Sure, Ryan felt times when he wanted to resort to someone who could know nothing about his life and his past, but he never missed Pete. “I’ve definitely upgraded.”

“To what? Me?” Brendon teased, bumping into Ryan. “Have I _replaced_ Pete?” Ryan knew what he was asking. Ryan was being accused of upgrading their unsure turbulent friendship just beginning to form to something far more concrete. Making Brendon not just the boy he saw occasionally, enjoying every moment of his kind words and freckled smile, but the boy Ryan would think about and hope to see and meet up with. Brendon was being established in Ryan’s life and he was hoping he would stay there.

“Is that okay?” Ryan muttered.

“As long as you’re okay with having far better dates than this.” Brendon laughed. His warm laughter couldn’t reach Ryan as a car speed past them on the road, their headlights flashing over them. Even in the darkness, Ryan ducked his head downward, attempting to cover his identity to the stranger rushing past them. It could have been anyone, but out of pure fear, it could have been his father. As Ryan turned away from the shrinking car down the road, Brendon released his hand, still keeping a smile.

“Sorry.” Ryan said. He twisted his hands in front of himself, holding them on his own. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Brendon said. “I understand. It’s a hard thing to do.”

“But we just watched Will and Gabe do it without any fear… It can’t be that hard.” Ryan argued, feeling his embarrassment bubble back up again. William was in the middle of losing his parents and having his academic life presently being taken from his control and he still had the bravery to be out and proud and refuse to turn away from the truth. “I’m just being pathetic.” His mother had been dead for years; waiting for perfect reaction was a waste of his life and his time. Everyone left after he told them, either in the grave or a speeding car, and Ryan let it dictate his life. He was nothing like William or Gabe. He wasn’t the son his mother approved of anymore. He had changed somewhere down the line. He became blind and scared. He became an orphan.

“You’re being a regular person.” Brendon countered. “I was the same way. If you don’t believe me, ask Will or Gabe. Being in the closet doesn’t mean you’re a coward.”

“But—”

“Not everyone’s environment allows it.” Brendon was caught staring at Ryan’s feet. “And that’s not your fault.” Brendon reached for Ryan’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. He always knew just the right words to say to bring Ryan’s building guilt settle back into the pit of his stomach. He removed Ryan’s shame and fear, but Ryan still couldn’t convince himself he deserved it. Brendon made him feel calm and safe even when he had an empty house to convince him again that he was wrong. He couldn’t tell who was lying anymore.

“I have to go home.”

“Aren’t I walking you home?”

“No. I mean—we are, but I have to go. I’ll see you at the hospital.” Ryan stared walking faster, distancing himself from Brendon and lies he spread. Ryan was becoming content in a life that lead him to dead ends and lack of compassion for the friends around him. “I’ll see you.”

“Ryan, wait!” He cried, his skateboard clattering on the ground as he tried to catch up with him.

“I have to go.” Ryan stepped away from the glow of the streetlamps and disappeared into the street, taking off down the asphalt. He didn’t bother to look back as Brendon called after him, apologizing for nothing. He wasn’t sure how far behind Brendon actually was, but eventually his cries and calls disappeared into silence. The silence pushed Ryan forward, his legs too fatigued to keep running but without anything else to do. The silence blanketed around Ryan and made the desert turn away from him; no quiet breeze, no buzzing streetlights, no grumbling engine of the car driving towards him. The lights were blinding and screaming towards Ryan, but the silence pushed him further and further. Ryan kept running, his feet pounding in time with his heart, the light filling his vision and the dark desert fading to nothing.

Thump, thump, thump— _nothing_.


	10. An Evil Eye for an Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He lives! After a painful two weeks of me making you all wait, here is chapter 10! As always enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think either in comments or on tumblr (@breakfastbeebo).  
> You all have been the best audience and readers and I love writing for you every week. thank you xoxo

One blinding light was replaced by another. First, it was the headlights of a car, unable to swerve away from Ryan as he jumped in front of it. His feet carried him over the painted lines and into the road without Ryan able to think of his actions. His feet were planted on the asphalt before he could think to move them back to the shoulder, out of harm’s way. Ryan closed his eyes to block the blinding light from hurting his eyes much further. When he opened his eyes again, it was a different kind of bright, stinging light. It felt like the morning sun that his mother would release upon him every morning as she pulled the blankets back. Ryan felt hands on him, like hands moving his blankets. His mother was waking him for school, her yellowed smile still intact and welcoming his day for him. She was alive and loved him. His father was down the hall sleeping, getting an extra hour of sleep before having to wake for work. He waited to hear her calming voice, her call to the morning.

_“Ryan. Ryan, baby, you have to get ready for school.”_

“Ryan. Ryan wake up. Please.”

“ _You’re going to be late, honey. Come on, I’ll make breakfast.”_

“You’re really fucked up, Ry. Come on, we’re all here. Wake up.”

 _“Oh! Look! Your father’s up early! Good morning to my favorite boys!_ ”

“Oh, shit. Should we call his dad? I don’t know what to do.”

Ryan wasn’t sure what words were coming at him from reality or a distant memory. His body ached, each nerve numbing itself to every sensation, unable to aid in figuring out what he was lying on. Ryan had no idea where he was. His arms felt bolted to the ground below him, his entire body stiff and disconnected. His head felt inflated and moments from bursting. If he was hearing his mother, it must have been a forgotten memory coming to the forefront. His brain was swelling to try and block the thought; it was trying to kill him. Ryan wanted to reach out and feel the world around him. His eyes opened slowly, a shining light hovering over his eyes, the brightness artificial and unbelievably painful. He wasn’t in bed. His mother was still dead.

“Ryan! Oh my god!” Spencer grabbed his limp hand and squeezed it tightly, waiting for it to squeeze back. “Ryan, are you okay? Oh my god, what happened. What did you do?”

“Spencer, give him space.” Patrick was somewhere beside Ryan, trying to keep Spencer from grabbing him. It had to be Patrick, it smelled like the same fabric softener he had used since freshman year. “We have to wait for the doctor to come back. We don’t know how bad he is.” Ryan wasn’t sure why Spencer and Patrick were leaning over him, his entire body horizontal and lower to the ground. He could feel other eyes on him beyond his feet. There was a blurred pink shape at his feet, hands resting on them. Ryan couldn’t remember the last pink thing he saw; it was comforting to see, but Ryan couldn’t tell who or what it was.

“Has anyone heard from Gabe and Will?” Patrick asked, looking across Ryan to another person. He had a beard and hovered by Ryan’s bedside awkwardly. He wasn’t touching him or the bed.

“I just told them the room number.” The man to Ryan’s right answered.  Ryan couldn’t remember what Gabe and William were doing to appear late; they must have had a good reason.

Ryan tried to recall their faces, what Gabe and William looked like together or apart. He tried to focus on just their eyes, maybe their hands or their noses, but he continued to blank. Nothing was in focus, Ryan’s head still feeling tight and pressured. His hand kept being squeezed. He didn’t know how to squeeze back.

“What are you all doing here?” Ryan didn’t recognize his own voice, but was reassured he was the one who had spoken as all heads turned towards him.

“You’re okay, Ryan. You’re okay, don’t worry.” Spencer said quickly, the words coming out too fast for Ryan to process. He let his eyes find the blurred pink shape again, their hands slowly coming into focus by his feet. Ryan had held them before, he knew it. He could predict how its fingers felt against his palm. He knew them. “We’re all here. Gabe and Will are going to be here real soon.”

“Why?” Ryan whispered it to himself, still trying to move the hand trapped inside Spencer’s. His feet were trapped under the hands he recognized. He couldn’t remember the last thing he was doing. As far as Ryan was concerned, he should have been in his bed at home sitting with his mother. Someone had been arguing with their mother recently—was it Ryan? He couldn’t imagine what it would be about.

“We’re here! We’re here! Is he okay?” Ryan finally could remember what William and Gabe looked like; their faces hung over him beside the man with the beard. “Oh my god, Ryan.” William looked startlingly distressed; his eyes were red and his hair was pulled back into a messy knot. He was dressed strangely nice, although his clothes were wrinkled and skewed, much like Gabe’s before-pressed shirt and loose tie.

“How did this happen?” Gabe asked, hand pushing Ryan’s hair back. He stared at Ryan’s forehead for a long time, but Ryan wasn’t sure why.

“I don’t know.” The pink form spoke softly, his hands slowly growing identifiable arms. “We were talking, and then he just took off running. I barely had time to try and catch up. He just kept running… Guys, I’m so sorry.”

“Brendon, don’t be. You couldn’t have stopped this…” William spoke soothingly to the pink form, now coming into complete focus. Brendon. Ryan blinked away the fogginess and tried to remember the last time he saw Brendon. The street. He remembered the street, and holding hands. He remembered Brendon smiling and touching his shoulder. He couldn’t remember a single word that was spoken to him, but remembered Brendon’s slow and kind tone. He remembered suddenly he wished Brendon had kissed him.

“Brendon?” Ryan groaned at the sound of his own voice.

“He’s here.” Gabe said, still holding his head. “He’s here, Ryan.”

Ryan took deep breaths as he tried to find his words again. His surroundings were slowly coming into focus and a hospital room was the last place Ryan wanted to be. He began to feel trapped in an old memory, his scar burning as they poured sanitation solution over his stitches, his father shouting at him to stop complaining about the pain, the plastic surgeon saying he did everything he could for the tissue, Ryan feeling helpless and wishing he was dead. He closed his eyes again and wished he was in bed, ready to be woken by his mother. Why was he still awake?

“What happened! Ryan, are you okay!” A new voice came plowing into the room, pushing away every hand on him and making Ryan suddenly lose his ground. “Oh my god, look at you. Who did this? What happened!”

“Pete, it’s no one’s fault.” William said. “Brendon and him were walking to his house and—”

“You!” Pete left Ryan’s side as he shouted at Brendon, now visible and clear at Ryan’s feet. He wanted to sit up to have a better sight on the sudden argument. “You did this!” Pete charged Brendon and shoved him into the wall. He gripped Brendon’s shirt and hoisted him off the wall. It was all oddly familiar. Ryan struggled to move and call out to him, but he was still silenced by his past. “You’re walking him home and a car just _hits him_? And you’re _fine_! What did you do!”

“Pete! Get off of him!” Gabe grabbed Pete’s shoulder and tried to pull him off of Brendon, but Pete was able to shove him away with his other hand. He had become stronger since the last time Ryan saw him… which Ryan had no idea when that was.

“What the hell is your problem?” Pete yelled, nose to nose with Brendon. “I could kill you!”

“Pete, stop it!” Patrick left Ryan’s side and joined the swarm of shuffling bodies and head-splitting yelling. “This isn’t the answer.”

“I can’t believe you let this happen!”

“I—I didn’t!” Brendon sputtered, putting his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly! You didn’t do a damn thing and he could have died, you pathetic fucking _twink_!”

“Get out.” William spoke up harshly, the room warping towards the noise. Ryan tried to blink away the startled faces, trying to break up the silence ringing in his ears. “If you are going to talk like that, I’m going to make you leave.”

“Since when do you fucking own the place, Bill?” Pete spat over his shoulder, keeping Brendon pressed against the wall. “You aren’t his boyfriend.”

“Neither are you.” Brendon seethed. Ryan continued to twist on his bed, trying to become vertical, trying to react to the argument spinning out of control, just as the room was. “Get your hands off me.”

“Stop.” Ryan urged, his fingers lifting instead of his entire hand. He coughed the rest of his response out, the sounds not making sense or replacing the words he wanted to say. “Please.”

“He’s _hurt_ and you want to start talking about _this_?!” Pete screamed. Ryan thought his pounding headache was the thudding he heard, not the sound of Brendon’s head hitting the wall.

“What are you fighting about?” William cried, trying to diffuse the situation in every way he knew how, but it occurred to Ryan that he had no idea why Pete would even care about Ryan being hurt.

“I was his boy first.” Pete growled. Ryan’s vision continued to warp as his heartbeat began to compete with the chaos of the room. “He was _mine_ before you even came along, Hotshot.”

“What?” Patrick spoke the question the entire room must have been asking, all eyes falling onto Ryan, although Patrick was acting surprised, more shocked by Pete’s outburst. Their bodies began to unfocused, but every set of piercing eyes became heightened and shined in the light, making Ryan sink into the mattress. He wanted to run but couldn’t feel his legs to begin moving.

“You and _Ryan_?”

“Guys, don’t.” Gabe finally spoke up, waving a hand out to them. His hand glided and blurred across the room.

“Gabe, did you know about this?” William asked, turning to him. His hair looked like a planetary ring circling his head as he spun in slow motion. Ryan tried to blink the fatigue away; he couldn’t black out now. He was being compromised. He needed to do damage control.

“Guys, _later_.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

“Are you _kidding_?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brendon’s voice shattered the surprise. It rumbled through the room, Ryan feeling it in his numb bones. “Get your hands off of me. You just betrayed your friend. You’re a lunatic, let go of me.”

“You don’t get to give me advice!”

“ _You_ don’t get to out your friend because you’re mad at me.” Brendon shouted back, shouldering himself out of Pete’s grip. “I agree with William, you should go.”

“Looks like the new boyfriend is jealous.” Pete muttered, pushing Brendon back and glaring at him. He looked around to assure they all understood his implication and Ryan’s new connection to Brendon. “I better leave you two alone then.”

Ryan opened his mouth to speak but could only gasp. The pain pounding in his head became unbearable. Black circles enveloped every face staring at him. The loud voices sounded muffled and faded. Someone new gripped his hand. Ryan lost the ability to squeeze back as the room dimmed to black.

* * *

Ryan awoke to a far quieter room and full feeling in his body—it was a start. The lights seemed softer than the first time he opened his eyes. Everything was stable and stationary. Nothing twisted, nothing turned, nothing rang in his ears. He would have thought he was dead if it wasn’t for the fact he had full control of his hands, arms, and legs. His hand burned as he flexed his fingers, his IV pinching across the tight skin.

“I hate these damn things.” Ryan muttered, speaking to himself if only to make sure he still had the ability. “ _Ow_.”

“Did I do it wrong?” A sudden pink voice flashed in his mind before he turned to look at Brendon, sitting beside him. He was sitting up straight in his chair, legs lowering after being propped up to sleep. His lowered knees revealed his rosy outfit palette ruined by blackened maroon splotches across his chest. Blood. “We were short staffed and I volunteered to put in your line… I guessed you were right handed. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ryan muttered. Now that his eyes could properly focus and his head was spinning in tune with the Earth, he couldn’t stop focusing on the spots on Brendon’s shirt and tie. “I’m sorry I ruined your tie. It was beautiful.”

“Please.” Brendon scoffed, laughing. His laugh was wet and cold, chilling Ryan’s bones. “It’s not even mine; I borrowed it from my brother. It’s the least of my worries.”

“It was so beautiful.” Ryan repeated. “The whole night was.” Brendon had been a memorable and angelic vision under the street lights, giving Ryan a place in the world and in his life. Ryan felt embarrassed by his actions and how he had ruined the night and mood. His first reaction was to regret waking up.

“No. You deserve better.” Brendon said, pulling his chair closer. “I should have handled everything better. I was just so eager to get you to understand the dangers of bottling yourself up, I didn’t stop to think. I shouldn’t have told you about my nose. Fear wasn’t the right tactic—especially after what we saw at dinner. I’m sorry. I was just still a little mixed up… I’m sorry.”

“Of all the parental fights I’ve witnessed, that one was the best one I’ve been a part of.” Ryan coughed out a chuckle, but wasn’t telling much of a joke. “Everyone’s under the same roof still and I feel pretty average.”

“That’s because I suggested they put you on the good stuff.” Brendon said, smirking. “You banged your ribs up pretty bad. And your forehead wouldn’t stop bleeding until we put a few stitches in there.” Ryan ran his fingers over the spot Gabe’s eyes had been burning a hole into earlier, the memory flashing in front of him.

“Stitches?” Ryan echoed.

“Just a few.” Brendon nodded. “They’re painless, I promise. It heals and then they come out.” Brendon assumed he didn’t know. How could he know about Ryan’s hideous reminder of the last time he needed stitches? The last thing Ryan needed was another reminder, slicing across his forehead on display to the entire world; he couldn’t hide anything then.

“How many?” Ryan had spent weeks running his fingers over his back, counting each and individual crossed string that would lead to a divot and bump in a month. “How many are there?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe a half dozen?” Brendon said. He reached over to grab the hand Ryan was reaching towards him. “It’s not bad. I got the best plastic surgeon we have to do them. It’s okay, Ryan. That’s the least of your problems right now.” He was right; _all_ of Ryan’s problems ranked pretty low after the ones he saw that night. Ryan’s were immaterial to William’s that came to a head at dinner and the memory Gabe had been digging further into the ground.

“Where is everyone else?” Ryan remembered yelling; Pete causing a scene. Pete pushing Brendon. “Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone is fine.” Brendon hushed, holding Ryan’s hand in both of his own. “They were sent to the cafeteria and lobby while they worked on you. I pulled a few strings with Dallon and got to stay here with you.”

“You are in enough shit with that guy, you didn’t have to do that.”

“He owes me this much.” Brendon said. “I just couldn’t leave you by yourself in here. I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ryan had a thousand reasons piling up to cause his involuntary chase; Brendon was possibly the one reason he had not to. “No matter what Pete thinks.”

“You remember that?” Brendon gulped.

“It was a partial out of body experience, but yes. I remember becoming a slut in front of my friends’ very eyes.” Ryan deadpanned, flexing the IV again.

“What? Don’t say that… You aren’t—why would you say that?” Brendon asked, hand still gripping Ryan’s tightly. Ryan was thankful he could feel his warm palm press against his own.

“They figured out I had been sleeping with their friend while I was wordless in a hospital bed—no defense on my part.” Ryan sighed. “I know how that looks.”

“A car hit you.” Brendon said. “And Pete storms in like we were all driving. No one is looking down at you, Ryan. No one.”

“Bill was so shocked.” Ryan remembered, hearing William’s sharp words slice his short silence again.

“Will was pissed.” Brendon laughed. “Gabe had to hold him back. He wasn’t a fan of his blame tactics either. Everyone is on your side here, Ryan. They’ve figured more out than you think.”

“As much as you?” Ryan asked timidly.

“No. Not as much as I know on the topic.” Brendon smiled. “Unless you’d like them to.” Brendon was asking Ryan to be brave again, to walk into the fire lit around him and admit his guilt and attraction to William’s chance volunteer. It was his last request before Ryan ran for the car, for the end. Being in the closet nearly killed him. But being out was the reason he was starving and broke. What else could happen to him if he was open? He barely had a presence at school—he didn’t want one.

“Not right now.” Ryan couldn’t think about their judgment if they learned of one of Ryan’s past affairs to learn the confirmation of a _new_ one.

“Okay.” Brendon nodded, loosening his grip. “Do you want to put this on hold?”

“No.” Ryan couldn’t handle someone else leaving. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Oh, thank God.” Brendon sighed, squeezing his hand again. “I have _so_ many more ties I need you to bleed on.” He was enjoying his stay.

“Next time you can show me how to fall off your skateboard.” Ryan coughed up another giggle and smile.

“Date number two?” Brendon lifted an eyebrow and grinned. “Well, how about we redo dinner first and you have a full recover before you break anything else.”

“Date three.” Ryan agreed. “Deal.” To try and seal their promise, Ryan tugged on Brendon’s hand, trying to pull himself up, trying to bring his lips up to Brendon’s.

“Need some assistance there?” He teased. Ryan nodded sheepishly, trying not to seem too eager as Brendon leaned over in his seat. His lips were stretched in a smile, a laugh pressing his lips together. His tie hung down and grazed Ryan’s hand, the stains falling back into view. Ryan released Brendon to grab onto his tie, pulling him lower. Ryan was hypnotized by his glistening eyes and freckles, closing his eyes seemed sinful.

Before Ryan closed his eyes and mind off to the rest of the hospital, the door swung open. Gabe and William were already halfway through their greetings as they rushed through the door.

“Well, stitches look good!” Brendon chirped, flopping back in his seat. “A little blood is normal.”

“Thanks.” Ryan muttered, eyeing his friends. “Sometimes I just get nervous about these things.” Brendon nodded and stood from his chair to allow Ryan’s friends to circle his bed.

“There he is!” Spencer clapped thunderously and grabbed his hand where Brendon had been. “Feel any better after your five-hour nap?”

“What? Was I out that long?” Ryan asked. Brendon had said he never left Ryan alone, for all five hours.

“You were pretty exhausted.” Patrick said, sounding concerned, but still factual. “Your vitals suggested you were really malnourished.”

“Jeez, Pat. Just say he looked like crap. He was hit by a car. He’ll get it.” Gabe laughed, shaking Patrick’s shoulder.

“It’s a fair point though.” William mumbled, nodding at Patrick. “The doctors noted really low amounts of calcium—your bones could have just snapped.”

“Exactly! He could have been more seriously hurt. He’s deficient in like ten different—” Patrick was cut off by Ryan’s own medical observation.

“Guys, I’m right here.” Ryan said. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry. Just worried.” Patrick shrugged. He was trying to make up for Pete’s mistakes again; he had to make up for Pete’s overdramatic outburst with his own form of over-the-top, although borderline helpful, worrying.

“Sorry. Diagnosed anxiety disorder.” William apologized. “Just want to make sure everything is okay.”

“You fought your parents today… last night, technically. I should be checking up on you.” Ryan insisted, trying to sit up again. His sides ached, his lungs squeezing out a low moan as he resigned to leaning back down in his pillows.

“You must not be feeling well if you’re concerned with our lives.” Spencer snorted, reaching over to adjust Ryan’s forehead bandage. “Banged your head pretty bad, huh?”

“Well, pardon my concern.” Ryan snapped. He was trying to pay attention to the lives around him and he was being looked at by his closest friend as someone who evaded concern at all costs. Even with a half-dozen stitches.

“For right now, we’re all concerned about you.” William smiled. “You just need to get better.”

“Guys, I’m not—”

“I think we should start with sleep.” Brendon jumped in, clapping his hands together, hearing the agitation in Ryan’s voice before anyone else. “It’s almost three. We should all let Ryan get some rest.”

“Brendon.”

“Medical recommendation.” He looked Ryan with a coaxing smirk. “Visiting hours are over and I have a curfew I have blatantly ignored and a very nervous mother at home.”

“You’re leaving?” Ryan hoped his disappointment went unnoticed as it cut through the silence.

“I’m not.” William replied, assuming Ryan had been speaking to all of them. “First night in a hospital alone is rough.” Ryan knew; last time he was eleven and without a parent to care.

“Sleep well, Ry. Love you, man.” Spencer leaned over and hugged Ryan gingerly. “Had me fucking worried.”

“See ya, Ryan.” Jon touched Ryan’s shoulder, exchanging the least words with the most sincerity. “Take care.”

“Bye, guys.” Ryan said. “Drive safe.”

“I’ll be careful not to hit anything.” Spencer teased, catching the keys Jon tossed his way.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Patrick promised, taking Spencer’s place in squeezing Ryan’s hand. “I’m sorry… I haven’t talked to him about it… But I think I need to.” Patrick was becoming an apologist for a boy that never thought to admit fault. Ryan knew exactly what Patrick was taking on.

“You can’t control him.” Ryan said. “Trust me.”

“Between the two of us, you’d think we’d have some upper hand.” Patrick sighed, laughing. It was the first time he referenced Pete and Ryan being involved, that the way Ryan knew Pete to be similar to his and Patrick’s decades of friendship. It was Patrick’s first time acknowledging it and he didn’t sound judgmental. He barely made any comment at all; Patrick was aware of every mistake and fallout and he placed blame on neither. Patrick witnessed the entire collision and just wanted everyone to survive the blast.

“Call me when you end up talking sense into him.” Ryan waved to Patrick all the way out the door, no longer feeling a blanket of lies and distain covering him.

Patrick stepped out into the hall and left Ryan’s eyes to relocate to the next face hovering by the door. Brendon was biting his lip, eyeing Gabe and William heavy in conversation. They both agreed he couldn’t cross the floor. He’d have to slip away, leaving them both hanging. Ryan wanted to take back his word, but knew that the less was out in the world, the safer Ryan would be. One kiss and his hospital bed would become a bed of nails and hellfire.

Brendon held a single hand up, waving goodbye as he stepped backwards out the door. His other hand gripped his tie tightly. Ryan had wished Brendon has kissed him on the street and silenced his running mouth, head, and legs. Ryan had dug himself into a hole and his own downpour of regret and doubt were going to drown him, nowhere to go.

“See you tomorrow, Ryan. Sorry again for dinner.” Gabe said. “And you take good care of him, Bill. Love you. See you at home.” They kissed and Gabe left, closing the door behind him. William turned back to Ryan with a smile, one brighter than the one shown in his senior portrait. Ryan was exhausted and his pain meds were fading, but the smile was unexpected in a setting a fresh enough wound for William to warrant absolute panic. If it wasn’t for the medicine being pumped into Ryan’s veins, he’d be feeling panicked himself about his new home for the night.

“He’ll see you at home? You don’t live together.” Ryan noted casually, settling his head in the pillows. Genuine smiles called for genuine questions.

“Yeah, well.” William muttered, kicking off his shoes. “For the next few days, yeah. We do.”

“Wait.” Ryan said. “Did they kick you out. Will, wait—”

“No. They didn’t.” William assured him. “I told my parents I was going to check back into the hospital, straighten myself out. But I’m just staying with Gabe. As long as I show up to therapy. No one will know and I actually _don’t_ have to return to the hospital.”

“Just that simple.”

“Works every time, in my experience.” William reiterated an earlier joke between the two of them, but seemed to be relieved by the outcome more than expecting it. “A little lie can stretch a long way.” William pulled his legs up onto his chair, resting his head on his knees. “Technically, I _am_ in a hospital.”

“Glad my injuries helped you out. The night wasn’t a total wash.” Ryan mumbled, comfort surprisingly striking him in his hospital bed. “Next time I’ll aim for a moving van or something.” Ryan laughed. “I’ll break a bone for a wedding present.” Ryan found the irony hilarious; William’s own family was sputtering and failing to understand him, and with one white lie he’s safe and away from his parents. Meanwhile, Ryan thought fatal injury would be his only safety—lying had stopped working. Ryan fought the urge to be jealous of William; they all had their own struggles and no one was better off.

“Ryan.” William was sitting in mortified silence, refusing to take it from his hands.

“It’s a joke.” Ryan sighed. “Am I not allowed that? Laughter is the best medicine.”

“Ryan, this is serious.”

“Relax, _dear_.”

“No.” William argued. “I can’t just relax. I can’t forget how you looked…. All limp and bloody and _dead_ -looking in Brendon’s arms. He carried you back to my house all on his own, afraid you’d be scared if you came back all alone, with him on a street.” Ryan was hurt Brendon assumed being alone with him was the same as loneliness. “We were—are—very worried about you, believe it or not, Ryan. And as much as he’s an ass right now, you know, Pete is too. In his own special way, I suppose—”

“No.” Ryan barked. “Don’t defend him when you don’t know everything.” William accepted the demand and sat back, silent again. “You’d… You’d be upset too.” Finally, Ryan admitted Pete’s actions and treatment were leaving wounds, running out of ways to cover them up and seep up the bleeding.

“I’m listening.” William offered the same ear as Brendon, trying to take weight off his shoulders. William was approaching him, friend to friend, but Ryan was beginning to feel the comfort of speaking to someone like him. Now that William knew Ryan was gay, the shock factor was eliminated and William and him were already open to each other. William was a person who’d understand the tiniest sliver of discomfort surrounding this new portion of Ryan’s life, without the anxiety of scaring him away.

“He just—you saw. He has a vengeful habit of outing me.” Ryan tried to shrug it off. “Wish I never told him.” Wished he had never looked Pete’s way at Patrick’s party. He had been so careless.

“He’s done it before.” William gasped. “Oh, Ryan. I—that’s terrible. He should never—Oh my God. I’m so sorry. You should have been able to tell us yourself on your own time. God. How could he?” William began boiling in his seat, his mind already unraveling Pete’s actions to the core, analyzing things beyond Ryan’s comprehension. “And—And that shit he said to Brendon to try and weaponize it? You can have male friends as a gay person, I just— _God_!” William shook his head rapidly, covering his face. “And that fucking word he used—”

“Will, he’s not worth it.” Ryan said. William had everything in his life falling back into place after falling off the edge. William didn’t need to take on Pete’s calamities. Ryan had nothing else to lose; he should be the only one responsible for Pete. “Really, I don’t care.” How foolish for Ryan to think he was on an honesty streak. “I just want to sleep right now.”

“Right, right.” William drug a hand through his hair and leaned further back in his chair. “Good night, Ryan. I’m here if you need anything. And if not me, then I’ve got everyone right here.” William lifted his hand, cell phone gripped tightly between his fingers. “And Brendon said he works at nine, so he’ll be here for medical questions—if you have any.” William still spoke of Brendon with kindness—his parents unable to sour his views of him. If only Ryan had the same luck with his view of himself. There was more to be jealous of than Ryan originally thought; William was an unachievable level of stable and level-headed. Ryan was lucky to know him. Lucky to have him care about someone like him.

“Hey, Bill?”

“Yeah?” William hummed, blinking against his sinking eyelids.

“Thanks for staying with me. I—I really appreciate it.” Ryan smiled.

“Of course.” William whispered. “You’re our friend. Anything you need.” A new place to stay? A father? Money in his pocket? An ounce of bravery? Ryan couldn’t ask for any of that thought; they all assumed he had it to begin with. Asking meant revealing he was mostly a string of lies in their life. He couldn’t afford to be exposed. Not now—he was already defenseless in a hospital bed.

His mother had been the same way six years ago, surrounded by her second family, jaw missing and tongue in pieces in a lab. Ryan’s mother died without another word in her defense. All her past lives caught up with her in her hospital bed. Ryan refused to suffer the same fate. He grinned back at William before closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep, forgetting the evening that had brought him to the bed in the first place.

It was difficult to fall asleep, hearing another person breathing beside him again. Typically, Ryan never slept if he was beside Pete and could never sleep if he could hear his father shuffling through the house. Hearing William’s slow drag of breath did nothing to comfort him on his first night in the hospital in a long time. If anything, it reminded him he was more alone, no parent to even visit or scold him for breaking the sliding glass door. Only someone else’s boyfriend with kindness too heavy for his own heart.

Eventually, Ryan nodded off to the sound of a heart monitor down the hall. It remained steady and was the most comforting part of his hospital stay. Throughout the night, Ryan could hear quiet pacing and hushed voices, none close enough to understand their words. Ryan was assured by their distance that he was one of their last priorities. When someone did come into the room, Ryan was already half awake, ribs aching as his lungs swelled with each breath. Ryan grimaced at the pain and tightened the skin stitched together; peaceful sleep was over and his pain medication was gone.

“Good morning, George!” A sweet-sounding nurse tiptoed into his room, chart in hand and false assumption on her lips. “You have a bandage I need to change.”

“Great.” Ryan said, knowing the routine thoroughly. “Go for it. Just don’t wake him.”

“Your brother?” She asked, her hands pulling the gauze away from his cut.

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded. Besides their long hair and pale complexions, there was very little about their appearances there were the same, but Ryan accepted the compliment while it was being offered.

“It’s nice you had company.” She produced a sterile bag of bandages from her scrub top, dabbing and cleaning Ryan’s cut gently. “These look good, George. Any pain?”

“In my ribs.” Ryan sighed, lifting his hands to press against the bones. His IV stung as his palm flexed. The skin was already starting to bruise.

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Does ‘ow’ suffice?” Ryan grumbled. “I was hit by a car.”

“I read.” She nodded, her work slowing. She eyed the chart sitting on the bed beside Ryan. “You look pretty good though for a head on collision.” Her tune twisted and her lips pursed. Ryan pushed her hands away, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m not pedaling drugs. I’m not bullshitting you. I’m genuinely in pain.” He stated. “I was in a residential area—not even thirty miles—you know what? I’m fine. I’ve had worse. I don’t need drugs.” Ryan snapped.

“It was just an observation.” She sounded smug, catching Ryan in a trap. “Routine questions.”

“They’re routine if you have a history of addicts in your family.” Ryan shot back, trying not to be stepped on without waking William. “Don’t play stupid. You didn’t get a degree that way.” She blinked at Ryan, hands slowly going back to Ryan’s head and reapply gauze. Her eyes remained fixed on Ryan’s.

“Where’d you say?” She asked, hands on top of each other, hovering over his ribs. Ryan pointed, immediately losing his breath as she leaned slight pressure on them. It was a sharp knife, prodding Ryan’s lungs and sending paralyzing electricity through his body. Ryan bit his lip for William’s sake. “I’ll check with your doctor to see if we can get you another dose, how about that?” He’d deny it, seeing his father’s medical file connected to Ryan’s, but Ryan could appreciate the effort. She touched his shoulder before she grabbed his chart and headed for the door again. Her obligatory, sickeningly kind exit was interrupted by another body nearly colliding with her in the door way.

“Rise and possibly shine, boys!” Gabe was not a morning person, but today was the day of miracles; Gabe was singing and Ryan was awake.

Ryan waved weakly, still trying to massage the ache from his ribs. Gabe lifted his two coffee-cup filled hands as he strolled over to William still asleep in his chair. His hair blanketed his face and shielded him from the bright lights above them.

“Baby. Rise and shine.” Gabe nudged his chair with his knee. “Babe.” William stirred slowly, eyes squinting as his hair fell to the slide. The moment his eyes adjusted, he jerked away, startled by the familiarity.

“Don’t worry.” Ryan wheezed. “You’re still on that side of the hospital bed.” William searched their faces for a trace of a dream and false reality, sighing when Gabe and Ryan turned out to be authentic.

“Sorry. Thought I dreamed everything.” He laughed, sitting up and smoothing his hair hurriedly. “Oh. Heart’s going now.” William smoothed the fabric of his shirt next like it’d calm his heartbeat.

“Didn’t enjoy your stay?” Ryan mused.

“Of course not.” William grumbled, pulling his hair back and knotting it loosely. “But, it’s not me that’s staying here, so I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.” He turned and looked up at Gabe, relieved. “Good morning.”

“A decaf green tea for you, roomie.” Gabe grinned, leaning down and planting a kiss on his forehead. Gabe handed William the cup and took a sip from the other.

“Nothing for me?” Ryan teased, folding his arms over his chest, if only to hide his labored breathing.

“Oh, well—” Gabe stepped forward between the bed and William’s chair and planted a kiss on Ryan’s forehead beside his bandage. “There you go.”

“I meant to drink.”

“Oh, well I didn’t know if you could have any caffeine or whatever. Bill’s got a special diet thing now.”

“We have completely different ailments.” William laughed, popping the lid and sipping from the steaming Styrofoam cup. “Caffeine won’t bruise any more of Ryan’s ribs.”

“Bruised?” Ryan echoed. The pain felt familiar but never had Ryan had a bruised rib—not that he could remember.

“Yeah. You kind of just folded over the car—it was nearly to a stop Brendon said. You just… collided with it I guess. Hit your head and banged your ribs.” William explained, pulling on his teabag string. “But I wasn’t there.”

“And Brendon’s English was a bit too fragmented for even me to catch when he first came to the house.” Gabe added. “He just kept saying you two collided. Whatever the fuck that means.” It meant Ryan ran into on-coming traffic, but with enough vagueness to blur who ran to who. Ryan wasn’t sure if Brendon was protecting Ryan, knowing the embarrassing, revealing truth, or if Brendon genuinely hadn’t seen Ryan’s attempt to reach ultimate silence.

“I don’t remember much either.” Ryan lied, shrugging. “I was just trying to walk home.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” William cooed, immediately retracting his serious tone of voice. “How do you feel?”

“Like a million bucks.” Ryan sighed. “Like I was only hit by a bike.”

“Well that’s good!” William chirped. “You’ll be out soon! You aren’t going to want to stay longer than two or three days. Trust me.”

“You _really_ don’t like it here.” Gabe noted, not surprised by the fact but William’s constant hint-dropping. “Bill, why didn’t you let me stay instead?”

“I’m not the patient anymore. I’m fine. Better you’re here now.” William’s smile was bright once again. It was weak around the corners, his lips quivering as Gabe wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Get used to it. You live with me now. Me _all_ the time.” Gabe jostled his shoulders, William falling in to lean his head against Gabe’s side.

Even with the scrambled and shattered fake, Gabe and William were able to piece their lives back together. William was afraid he didn’t know how to love Gabe properly after his breakdown and Gabe felt disconnected from William due to the forced wall between them. They were afraid they were losing the other, only to see the other losing themselves, scrambling to support them. There was never a worry if they would or wouldn’t be okay, if Gabe would leave William in an unsafe situation; someone was there to catch William in his cycle of self-destruction. Ryan wasn’t going to be jealous. He shouldn’t have been jealous about something he should have been doing for himself _by_ himself. He should’ve had the self-pride and dignity to do it himself, but it sounded far too wonderful to have someone help hold his hand and help him be brave every time and again.

“Knock knock!” Ryan was interrupted by a sing-song shout from the door of his room. Dallon stood unmistakably and irritatingly proud in its frame. “Breakfast!”

“Oh. Great.” Ryan prayed Dallon didn’t recognize him—William and Gabe were familiar on their own as a pair and dead giveaways, but Ryan had hope that without Brendon, his memory wouldn’t be jogged.

“Here for some nourishment and a check-up.” He grinned, holding out a blue tray with squared food portions.

“You are _not_ a medical professional.”

“It’s more of a spiritual check-up.” Dallon’s grin refused to falter and Ryan knew he recognized him, if not from the hospital visits than from his door-to-door run-in with Dallon. “See how you are and discuss your options.” He pulled a table over Ryan’s bed and placed the tray in front of him, pushing it forward with his fingertips. “Eat up.”

The tray had dry toast, a sectioned off fruit cup, a peel-top cup of orange juice, and questionable breakfast meat. Ryan was admitted with bruised bones and blatant malnourishment—all markers of abuse—and Dallon holy-rolled in with a tray of morsels and with no medical authority to ensure Ryan ate any of it. Dallon had never been hungry or dejected a day in his life. Ryan rolled his eyes and reached for the juice cup, his hand nearly missing Gabe’s as it darted for the fruit cup.

“Gabriel.” William scolded, slapping his hand away from the try. “He’s starved.”

“Eat it.” Ryan said, handing both the fruit and juice cup to him; his hand couldn’t flex properly with his IV to peel the foil anyway. Ryan’s right hand was incapacitated and the left was in Dallon’s grip, pulse found and measured. “Can’t eat it anyway.” He mumbled, narrowing his eyes at Dallon and his pristine, pressed shirt and obnoxious name tag.

“You can eat this right, babe?” Gabe asked, sitting on William’s armrest and worrying over the nutrition label printed on the top.

“It’s fruit, Gabe.” William laughed, taking it from him. “I can eat it.”

“You are what you eat.” Gabe teased, kissing the top of William’s head. He adjusted William’s top-knot carefully, tucking in loose curls. “My tall string bean.”

“A string bean isn’t a fruit.”

“Well, I can’t think of a fruit that matches you.”

“A peach.”

“Can you stop that?” Dallon snapped, hands pressing unskillfully hard on Ryan’s wrist; if Ryan thought he was upset their talking was disrupting his observations, he was very wrong. “I am trying to summon and heal with the light of the Lord and it’s impossible when you are blatantly disrespecting it.”

“Never mind. Lemon.” William growled, crossing his arms and legs, glaring at Dallon.

“Alright… George, make a fist for me.” Dallon said.

“Gladly.” Ryan said. He curled his fingers tightly into a ball, thrusting it closer towards Dallon.

“Good. Looks good. And how do you feel?”

“Absolutely blessed.” Ryan seethed. The same hands that had slapped Brendon were tempting fate, asking Ryan to continue to show his dexterity and functioning appendages.

“That’s the spirit! Now, I’ve been looking through your chart—”

“Is that even legal?” William muttered into his cup.

“—and you’re eligible for one of the Churches after-release facilities! It can help you find peace and God as you heal.” Dallon stood from his chair towards the door, although it was obvious the conversation was far from over. “One of my brothers has the pamphlets, but he is working at a snail’s pace today.” He shouted into the hallway, arm waving another volunteer forward. “Idle hands, boy, let’s move!” The three of them exchanged concerned glances, Gabe and William shocked but Ryan worried, knowing Dallon’s temper.

A short, cheerful boy stepped in, curly hair in a frizzy mess on his head and glasses sitting crooked on his face. He had round cheeks that rose up to his eyes as he grinned at the three of them. He didn’t look old enough to shave, his voice cracking as he introduced himself. “Hi! I’m Ian. Sorry, I got lost down the hall.” He laughed at himself, trying to lessen the glare Dallon was aiming at him, pushing him into the room. “I have all these papers for you.” The papers fumbled out of his hands and onto the foot of Ryan’s bed.

“Thank you.” William took some from the bed to try and keep Dallon’s hand from leaving his side. “We’ll read these over.” He blinked at them, trying to focus his vision; Ryan noticed he didn’t have his glasses and was merely humoring the blurred face in front of him as he stopped squinting.

“Nonsense! Mr. Crawford will tell you everything you need to know.” Dallon patted the boy on the back with enough force to push him forward. He apparently had missed the bed-side manner and societal rules part of the Good Book.

“Uh, okay. Well, there’s the… The Pearl Center upstate—no wait, that’s not it. It’s the uh, it’s the Serenity Garden. No… Darn!” Ian sighed and pinched his nose under his glasses. “I’m not good at this. Brendon is better at remembering all this stuff.” Ian whined, looking up at Dallon.

“I didn’t ask Mr. Urie.” The name burned his tongue.

“Well can I at least ask Brendon for the Pearl Center? He’s stayed there!” Ian insisted. “I think he’s doing charts down the hall or something.” Ian stepped towards the door, already decided.

“No. Mr. Crawford, that’s not what I said.” Dallon said firmly. “I asked you.”

“No, you don’t need to get him. I want to hear your take.” Ryan said, trying to stop him. He wasn’t ready to see Brendon again, to have him see Ryan weak and hurting and half-awake. It couldn’t have been a beautiful image.

“No, really. He’ll know.” Ian waved both of them off, poking his head out the door. “Hey! Bren! Mind giving your Pearl spiel? I forget it already…. No, c’mon. It’s just three teenagers. Not a hard audience.” Ryan wouldn’t have said that. “Come on. Let’s go!” Ian leaned into the hallway, yanking a long, navy blue sleeve into the room.

Brendon’s head was hung low, his bang brushed down over his forehead that day instead of swept back. The shirt was too big for him as was the responsibility to speak in front of a crowd. He kept his eyes glued to the floor as he shuffled inside, spotting Dallon and standing at the other end of the room.

“Well. Go on, Mr. Urie.” Dallon sighed, pursing his lips.

“Uh, the Pearl Center is in central Nevada. It’s a great place—”

“Are you convincing your shoes, Mr. Urie?”

“No, sir.”

“Speak _up_.” Dallon marched over to Brendon, his hand reaching out and pushing his chin up. Brendon bit his lip and looked away from all of them as his face finally showed. His left eye was purple and swollen, the magnification of his glasses making the tears in his eyes look like raindrops. His glasses were scratched, obviously worn if only because of his one eye’s inability to hold a contact. Gabe and William were silent and Ryan felt his already empty lungs lose their last breath of air. “Better.”

“Pearl Center is in central Nevada. It’s a really friendly place to practice or find religion during your most vulnerable time.” Brendon muttered, still looking away from them. “I stayed there for around three weeks. I had…. Broken a bone and needed time to heal properly and was graciously accepted into the program after just a short interview.” Brendon was cringing after his own words, Dallon and Ian nodding along although enjoying completely different parts of his speech. “It’s… It’s, uh… Listen, Ian, can I do this some other time? These guys don’t want to hear this.”

“You’re doing a great job.” William piped up, grinning at the bruise he didn’t have to squint to see.

“No. This is your job. Do it.” Dallon snapped.

“I don’t want to do it.” Brendon muttered, finally looking at Ryan with apologetic eyes. What could he possibly be apologizing for? “Let someone else do it.”

“No.”

“Dallon, please.” Brendon begged. “He’s not going to go here. He’s going to be fine without it.”

“Obviously not!” Dallon waved an accusatory hand out towards William and Gabe, who were now gripping each other’s hands, scared by the tension. “Keep going. Talk about your broken nose.” He seemed too pleased.

Brendon clenched his jaw and swallowed his rebuttal. “I broke it… and learned how even injuries can teach you a lesson.” He gritted through every word, Dallon smiling and nodding while Ian read one of his extra pamphlets, oblivious.

“And? What else?”

“That this is bullshit.” Brendon spat, shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”

Dallon stepped towards Brendon, finger out and pointing. “If you don’t cut the attitude, I will personally send you to one of those recovery facilities without the mobility to leave for a month.” He growled. “Don’t make me break that nose twice, boy.”

How had Ryan not seen it? Dallon was Brendon’s keeper, the one measuring every step and every fallback. He dangled a mission over his head, he found every mistake and reported it back to the Church—or possibly his parents. Dallon was an all seeing evil eye. He believed in all things fair, all things an eye for an eye. Or a nose for a nose. He taught Brendon to keep to himself and let the world step on him when threatened. Dallon had made Brendon stand idly in that bathroom during the football game, ready to be beaten, only to shout at him after finding him for being lost. Dallon was his worst critic, but excused it all as God’s word. Ryan could see now how Brendon was still involved even after admitting he didn’t believe a single word. He was black-mailed, threatened, and scared shitless into staying. And Ryan walked in front of a car, putting them both in the one place Brendon hated the most.

“It’s okay! Really. I can read.” Ryan said, hitting William’s arm trying to get the pamphlet. William squinted and scrambled through the different papers, unable to read fast enough in the panic. “I don’t need this many people.”

“Of course.” Dallon nodded. “You let the nurse know if you need any clarifications, they’ll come get me. God bless you.” He bowed his head before placing an arm around Ian and guiding him out, as if the scene didn’t happen, shutting down the outburst Brendon had boiling.

“Brendon, what happened?” Ryan gasped, his ribs burning as he lunged to sit up. “ _Dallon_ broke your nose? I—why didn’t you just say that?” The irony of Ryan accusing someone keeping secrets wasn’t lost on him.

“It’s fine, Ryan. Really. I’m okay.” Brendon hushed, walking to the foot of his bed again and placing a hand on his feet. "It’s just a black eye. I’ve had them before.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Ryan rebutted, ignoring the commentary attempted by William and Gabe. “Brendon, what did he do to you?”

“It wasn’t Dallon.” Brendon sighed, still avoiding the topic. “I’m okay.”

“Who did this?” Gabe echoed, standing to look at it closely. “That’s a clean shot to the eye. How did someone manage to land that? Were your eyes closed?” No, Brendon didn’t fight back.

“It was in the parking lot last night. I was getting ready to go home and… someone was angry with me. It happens.” Brendon shrugged it off, but Ryan could hear the lie immediately; he had a trained ear. It wasn’t just someone. It wasn’t a stranger taking things out on an unlucky volunteer out past his curfew. It was revenge.

“Pete.” Ryan gasped. “Oh my god.”

“I’m _fine_.” Brendon insisted. “He just had to blow off some steam.”

“And that’s your responsibility why? He’s a fucking adult!” Ryan yelled. He winced as he raised his voice, his ribs moaning under the stress. “You shouldn’t… Fuck—Ow.”

“Don’t hurt yourself. I’m okay.” Brendon squeezed his feet, attempting encouragement. “Really. I’m more worried about you. I’ll be okay.”

“You… Fuck… You just admitted that your religious ‘leader’ has an unruly temper and… and Pete clocked you for no reason!” Ryan heaved, his breathing heavy. “That’s not okay!”

“I’m fine!” Brendon snapped, shouting at Ryan. “I’m fine.” He repeated softer. Ryan had just found out his most hidden secret and was acting just like Pete had towards Ryan. He was practically punching Brendon in the eye all over again. He was helping Brendon dig his hole deeper, not helping him out. “I’ll… I’ll be back later. I have to get back to work.”

“Brendon, wait.”

“I can’t.” Brendon muttered, patting Ryan’s foot again. “Maybe later. Just, not right now. I can’t.” Brendon hung his head and marched out again, ignoring Ryan’s attempts to stop him.

“Let me go talk to him.” William offered, standing from his chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Ryan watched William chase after him and wished he could get on his own two feet and comfort Brendon himself, but he accepted William as his replacement. He was a better person to talk to him anyway; Ryan would probably make it worse, stumbling over all the wrong words and struggling to make sense of the words and silences being handed to him. Ryan had no idea how to help another human being through emotional turmoil. Ryan had spent his entire life hiding from his own and hiding from others that he was horrendously stunted and clueless. Brendon was struggling with something, it was probably so clear to William, but Ryan still wasn’t sure what it was. He needed Brendon to speak to him, but at the same time, he didn’t know what he’d say. Would he have to offer a story, like Brendon had? Would his words even help? Ryan felt useless and hopeless, lying in his bed. As William left, Ryan couldn’t decide what hurt more: his ribs or the strange twisting in his chest.

“You couldn’t have gotten the story out of him.” Gabe said confidently, shrugging. “Don’t feel bad, Ry.”

“I—I’m not.”

“You look like you want to cry.” Gabe rebutted, replacing William in the plastic chair at Ryan’s bedside. “I know the feeling.”

“What do you mean? I—I don’t.” Ryan told himself his eyes were wet because his ribs ached _that_ badly. “You don’t understand.”

“January of your freshman year.” Gabe started, folding his arms across his chest. “Will worked himself _to exhaustion_ and got the common cold that nearly hospitalized him and I hadn’t noticed.”

“You were busy too—”

“Last month, William had a breakdown from the pressure from his parents.” Gabe continued, not stopping. “And I couldn’t do a damn thing until William hit rock bottom; he wasn’t going to tell me a fucking thing. Sure, I had suspicions, but all I can do—all you can do—is make yourself a safe place to hide those secrets too.”

“Gabe, this is stupid—”

“People have secrets, Ryan.” Gabe’s tone stiffened. “And I know more than _anyone_ , you know that. There are entire portions of your life I don’t know about—no one does. You keep secrets and I get that. I try to be a place for you to talk and open up, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes Brendon tells you things. Sometimes, that secret isn’t ready to go anywhere. You have to be patient. We all have been with you.”

Ryan had no words to defend himself and his sudden call-out. He simply nodded, letting Gabe see the first glimpse of his listening face.

“I know what it feels like to feel like you’re hopeless, waiting to be able to help.” Gabe continued. “But, I hate to tell you, Ryan, but you only feel that when you actually give a shit.” Gabe laughed quietly, bordering on smugness but remaining friendly. “You give a shit about that ‘stranger’ you met at a football game.”

“I am allowed to worry when he has a black eye.” Ryan countered, trying to keep his lies straight. “He’s _hurt_.”

“And so are you.” Gabe pointed out. “But somehow his pain takes precedence. Interesting.” Gabe knew what he was saying, knew he was insinuating that there was something more between Ryan and Brendon. There was no confirmation for Gabe to truly thrive off of, so Ryan was technically safe, but Gabe knew. Gabe knew what he was doing and he knew he was right.


	11. Past Meets the Present, and Tries to Kill the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the new update! It was a lot of emotional dialogue to write so I had a LOT of fun writing it. Let me know what you think! (@breakfastbeebo on tumblr as always)

Smoking had been banned in hospitals since the 1970s. No patient, visitor, or doctor was allowed to smoke within the vicinity of the hospital at any time. Put simply, it was meant to protect other people from the choices of the smoker that brought toxins into a place of healing. Also, it was a preventative measure to keep smokers from blowing up any oxygen tanks, but not many people considered that. Not having any smokers or open flames in a hospital was commonplace and was the most effective way to keep everyone safe, but after his third hour alone, _God_ did Ryan really want a cigarette.

After his morning check-ups, both medical and spiritual, and his chase-out with Brendon, Gabe and William left to finish getting William situated in Gabe’s house. Spencer was supposed to arrive in the evening, but for the afternoon, Ryan was completely alone and _dying_ to shut himself up; he hoped if he had something between his lips, he could silence the chattering mouth in his head too. He couldn’t stop shouting at himself for the conversation outcome between him and Brendon that morning. He watched Brendon be verbally attacked by someone he was religiously obligated to respect and had no ammunition to protect or defend him. Ryan practically had nothing—he knew very little about Brendon—but he couldn’t even muster up an interruption to kick Dallon from his room fast enough. He let it all happen. He facilitated abuse. He was a bystander.

Ryan had to make things right, and make them right with everyone. He couldn’t keep holding things in if it meant that other people had to step into harm’s way for him. He couldn’t just become an open book, pages fluttering in the wind and words out for everyone to see, but he could start with things that were never going to change; his mother, his father, himself. He could tell Brendon about his father, couldn’t he? Brendon had ridiculous religious standards surrounding his relationship with his parents; he had the ability to understand Ryan. He had the capacity to take his secret in and keep them close. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was full on his own and didn’t need any of Ryan’s baggage. There was only one way to test his theory.

Ryan pushed himself up into a sitting position, arms buckling as his body weight shifted to be hovering around his ribs. He grunted and moaned as he gripped the bars on his bed, fumbling around to find the release button and slide them down. The bar gave suddenly and Ryan almost fell out of bed, scrambling for his earlier make-shift dining table and reaching for the bars on the other side of his bed. Swear words were bubbling at the tip of his tongue, but Ryan suppressed every instinct he had to scream. He had endured a lot worse and stayed a whole lot quieter. The tile floor was expected to be a lot colder, but Ryan’s feet had been covered in hospital garb, anti-slip socks, sticking his feet in place beside the bed. The rolling IV stand was Ryan’s only hope of getting to his feet without toppling over, his white-knuckle grip nearly crinkling the metal as he hoisted himself onto his feet.

The door seemed to stretch farther away as he stepped forward. The pain was bearable, his legs stiff and ribs not aching as long as he held his breath between steps. Ryan was able to get to the door without completely regretting his decision. Once reaching the door, it occurred to Ryan he didn’t know where to go next. He had minimum energy and mobility to search every room, hall, and closet in the hospital. He’d have to be wise and pick the one spot he knew he’d find Brendon—which could prove to be difficult, considering Ryan knew very little about Brendon other than his strong distrust for the religion pinned on him, his ability to skateboard, and his sharp fashion sense. The chapel was out, obviously, but Ryan wasn’t sure what to do with the other information. Ryan had no other guess other than to start roaming.

The hallways tangled together, forcing Ryan to memorize and predict where it led before changing directions; doubling back wasn’t an option. Ryan left what he found to be the recovery wing and headed towards an elevator; everything scary and needing God was on the first floor. No one on the brink of death had the time to change floors. William’s room had been on the first floor and Brendon was never far from it. Ryan was hoping it was the wing itself and not the patient and visitors that kept Brendon near 107.

“Daddy? What’s wrong with that man?” A little boy was standing beside the elevator, his father already pressing the down arrow.

“Dean! Don’t be rude.” He said quietly, hoisting the boy from the ground and resting him on his hip.

“Is he dying?” The boy asked, pointing at Ryan’s haggard and hollowed face. “Daddy, what’s wrong with his face?”

“I’m sorry.” The father said to Ryan, shaking his head. He looked embarrassed so Ryan accepted his apology.

“It’s okay. I get it. Kids aren’t easy.” Ryan mumbled, trying to stagger his breathing to not appear out of breath.

“Do you have any?” The man asked, trying to ask for small talk, but also concerned someone as young and frail and reckless as Ryan ever created another version of himself.

“No. God no.” Ryan coughed up a laugh. “That’s not happening.” Ryan pressed the button on the elevator for good measure, breaking his gaze with the son, still scared by his bandages and IV.

“Eh, you’re young.” The man laughed, bouncing his son against his hip. “Ben and I didn’t want kids for the _longest_ time.” Ryan pressed the button again, praying the elevator would get their faster. His hand began to shake from overexertion.

“That’s nice.” Ryan said.

“Ben’s here getting his one knee replaced.” Ryan nodded although he never broke eye-contact with the elevator button. “Idiot loves running and biking. And falling doing both of those things.” The man’s laugh was unbelievably genuine and sweet, openly loving this other man in front of a stranger, baby in arm and completely unafraid. “Little Dean wants to see his Dad _right_ after surgery.”

“That’s sweet.” Ryan said. “You must really love him.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say in such a situation, so he thought of the only strange and unfamiliar thing he noticed; a loving father holding his son and speaking fondly of the other parent. He spoke as if it was an oddity in the situation.

“Of course I do.” He laughed again. “When someone you love is hurt, everything becomes about making them better.” Ryan punched the button. “…In a hurry?”

“Yeah. Someone has a black eye.” Ryan said quickly. “I should probably just take the stairs.”

“No, here it comes. Please, don’t take the stairs.” He touched Ryan shoulder softly, guiding him towards the opening doors. “That person needs you, I’m sure. And needs you on both feet.” Ryan had no energy to push against the man and stepped into the elevator. He pressed this first-floor button, leaning against the wall and gripping his IV stand. He wasn’t sure if the activity or the anxiety was taking Ryan’s breath away.

“Daddy.” The kid said again slowly. “Is he dying?”

“No. I’m not.” Ryan said. “I’m not dying.” At least, not in that moment. He was going to get to the first floor before he had any rapid decline of health.

“That’s enough questions for today, Dean. Let the nice man get downstairs without being interviewed.” The man said, kindly reprimanding the child.

Ryan tried not to find himself staring at the man. He looked average. There was nothing extraordinary about him to cause Ryan’s fascination. The way he spoke to his son was soft and pleasant and warm, not at all sharp and wounding. That was the way all parents were supposed to treat their kids. He spoke openly about his life and the love in it, the way all people should feel safe to. He wanted a complete stranger to be safe traveling through a building, giving Ryan a shred of dignity when he thought he had none left. The man was some strange glimmer of hope Ryan shouldn’t have been seeing; the universe was _not_ supposed to encourage him. If the universe was trying to force him in one direction—in _this_ direction—the only person in his way now was himself. Ryan couldn’t decide if that counted as a pathetic roadblock to step over or if it was the end of everything.

“I hope your… your husband gets better.” Ryan muttered, looking at the pair. He chose his words carefully and respectfully. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

“Well, I’ll have to tell him you said that.” He laughed. “He’s angry I keep worrying. Now I can tell him it’s _luck_.”

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded, not sure how else to interact with the relationship being revealed to him. “Real lucky.”

“Oh, and I’m sure that… person is lucky to have you care about them. A black eye is hardly worth the trouble you’re going through.” He was trying to be sweet, but Ryan could only hear criticism.

“A black eye is never that person’s fault.” Ryan countered. “Broken ribs and a half-dozen stitches are.” The elevator slowed and reached the first floor. It was both of their stops, but Ryan was eager to leave first. He inched forward, his IV wheels squeaking along the linoleum flooring. The man stayed put, leaning against the back wall of the elevator and giving Ryan space. There was little room for argument, but he was giving him every inch possible just in case.

Even just in the hallway stretching beyond the elevator, the first floor was busy. Doctors bustled between patient rooms with charts tucked under arms and interns scurrying behind them. Ryan inched towards the fast-paced chaos, trying to catch up with its pace. The father and son disappeared elsewhere, an empty, closed elevator behind Ryan when he turned around. Ryan was on his own.

“Brendon?” He called, his voice not nearly as powerful as he knew it could be. He had yelled at lot louder at Brendon the night before, running home. Now his voice was a hoarse cry for help. “Brendon?”

“What are you doing out of bed?” Ryan wasn’t sure how he was everywhere at once.

“What are you doing in the hospital, Pete?” Ryan said, still walking down the hall. His socks made shuffling impossible, his feet coming off the ground by centimeters before his legs ached.

“I’m coming to see you.” Pete said softly. “I’ve been so worried.”

“Is that why you nearly beat up Brendon?” Ryan wanted to see if Pete admitted to his parking lot assault on his own. “Stricken with grief?”

“Actually, yes. Why are you making me sound like the villain here?” Pete answered, turning to march beside Ryan. “I’m genuinely worried about you, Ryan.”

“No, you’re not.” Ryan muttered, turning to call Brendon’s name down another hallway. “You just want to see if I’m injured enough to make your rebound-tactic reflect poorly on you. Don’t worry, I’m not dead so you can keep dating Vicky.” Ryan had very little energy and didn’t want the argument to last long. He dove in, grudges first.

“Who said I was… What are you talking about?” Pete didn’t deny a single word. “Did _Gabe_ say that?”

“The man isn’t an idiot.” Ryan spat, peering down an empty hallway. It was filled with supply carts and medical equipment otherwise not currently in use. “And neither am I. I’m also not blind… Although, you nearly made Brendon as such.”

“What?”

“That shiner you gave him?” Ryan nearly broke out laughing; Pete was in such deep denial about the end of his and Ryan’s relationship, but he didn’t bother to deny a single accusation Ryan shot his way. “I saw it.”

“Look,” Pete stepped in front of Ryan and stopped him in his tracks. “Brendon was talking a lot of shit in that parking lot. He doesn’t know _anything_ , but he was talking like he fucking knew me—like he knew us. Gonna tell me that I didn’t treat you right? What bullshit. Everything was how we wanted it to be. We were just _fine_. His comparisons are _shit_ and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Pete said firmly, lowering his voice to evade all attention by passing doctors. “He doesn’t know you like I do. He just thinks he can understand it all from a few conversations and longing glances. He can’t. _I_ know you. And if you want things different, I can do that. I can be what you want, Ryan.”

“Pete—”

“You don’t know because you never asked me to change.” Pete said. He was right; it was Ryan’s fault. He never comfortable enough to communicate all of his wants and needs for Pete to be able to know. Ryan left Pete in the dark and got mad when he couldn’t find him. How could he be so selfish? All Ryan had to do was ask. But with Brendon, he didn’t have to. Brendon asked questions and anticipated fears, having been through most of it himself. He asked, and to Ryan, that meant he was thinking about how Ryan felt more consciously than Pete ever was. Pete was only begging now because Ryan was becoming unavailable.

“I’m still not asking you to.” Ryan said, pushing his own guilt away. “I don’t want you to.”

“Ryan, no, I will. I—”

“I don’t want you.” Ryan clarified. “You’ve changed enough.”

“What are you talking about!” Pete cried. “You turned on me in a matter of an evening! Over a _question_! I asked about _one thing—_ ”

“And you’ve been more violent in the past few weeks than in the past four years. And it’s not a look I like on you. It’s not a trait I want in anyone that I decide to trust.” Ryan snapped, still trying to distance himself. Pete scoffed behind him, leaving the argument because he was too flustered to continue with any kind of logic.

“Good thing your new boyfriend’s a pussy then.”

“Would you just leave Brendon out of this!” Ryan said. “He’s never done anything to you. He’s _my_ friend. He’s Bill’s friend. Gabe worships his hospital ID and ability to pull strings. Just leave him alone. What did he ever do to you?”

“He stole you.”

“We ended far before I met Brendon.” Ryan explained, clarifying for the thousandth time.

“No. We didn’t.” Pete said. “That football game, there was a spark. I remember it. I was so sure you were coming back around. We were going to work it out.”

“I ended our relationship that night, standing by the locker rooms, behind the bleachers. I ended everything and you just don’t want to see it.” Ryan raised his voice, lungs swelling under his creaking ribs. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore, Pete.”

“Fine.” Pete said, spitting the word at him. “I guess I’ll just go play in traffic then. That seems to work for you, right?” Ryan turned on his heels, ready to march off in the opposite direction as quickly as he could. Before Ryan could take a single step, he was met with a timid face—black eye and all—staring at the scene from the end of the supply hall.

“Brendon.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two love birds.” Pete saw Brendon there the entire time and wanted to drive a wedge in between them while Ryan was unaware of the damage control he should have been doing. Brendon stood with his arms curled around packages of gauze, hands resting on his sides and trying to encircle himself.

“Brendon.” Ryan breathed, stepping towards him.

“What are you doing here.” He asked hesitantly, gripping his sweater sides tighter.

“He’s leaving, don’t worry. He’s leaving.” Ryan cast a glare over his shoulder to make sure Pete was on his way out.

“No. You.” Brendon said. “You should be in bed. You aren’t well.”

“I’m fine.” Ryan waved the concern away as he walked closer. “I wanted to talk to you. I couldn’t just lay there.” He couldn’t lay there when he knew someone was feeling the same way he had for most of his childhood; he couldn’t leave Brendon to be alone with those feelings or the injury.

“Ryan, I—I have to work. I don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s really complicated and… and I don’t want you to feel obligated to tell me anything. You’ve obviously got a lot on your mind right now.” Brendon shook his head as he spoke, his voice soft and timid. He never spoke to Ryan like that. He was never scared.

“Maybe I want to talk.” Ryan said. “Maybe I have some things to say too.”

“Ryan, it’s okay. You don’t have to. Go back to your room and be with your friends.” Brendon sighed, reaching out to place a hand on Ryan’s arm if only to guide him towards the elevator again.

“You’re my friend too.” Ryan said. “Actually, probably a little more than that right now. You know stuff about me that I’ve never told anyone else—that I’ve never actually had to _tell_ you.”

“And that doesn’t mean you owe me anything else.”

“You’re right.” Ryan nodded. He lifted his hand from his IV stand to reach out and grip Brendon’s arm. “But all my friends are out solving their own problems and I’m all alone up there. If I’m not with you, I’m all alone. There isn’t anyone that is going to come and see me.” Ryan was approaching the truth for the first time and he wasn’t sure how it would feel to finally tell a person about his father. Brendon squeezed Ryan’s shoulder, his face falling.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Busy parents don’t mean they don’t love you.” Brendon whispered. “I’ve gone down that path, don’t do it.”

“No. You don’t understand.” Ryan said. It was the first time the thought crossed both their minds. “They aren’t busy. Fuck, I don’t even know if they are both _alive_.” After the first day, Ryan was nearly sure his father wouldn’t return, his death eminent as his self-destruction blended with his uncontrollable rage. His father was so far away at this point, or so dead-set on never returning, that he was as good as dead. Ryan was an orphan and he hadn’t even gotten accepted into college yet. How was he going to do anything with his life? How was he supposed to continue on from his lowest point if he was left with an empty house he couldn’t afford and student loans he had no means of income? Ryan was screwed. His father left as his final act of leaving Ryan to, now more than ever, die.

“What?” Brendon dropped the gauze to hold Ryan by both arms. “D—Dead?” Brendon’s face crumpled and he looked devastated, like Ryan’s entire world was over and he was the only one to help him. “Oh my God, Ryan. I am so sorry.”

“I haven’t seen my mom in years… But my dad left recently.” Ryan continued.

“W—What happened?” Brendon’s blackened eye began to glisten with tears, but Ryan wasn’t sure if it was from pain or empathy. “I thought… I don’t know, we never discussed it but I assumed your parents… I thought…”

“He walked out.” Ryan said, shrugging. “I’ve been home by myself for days. William’s dinner was my first meal in a while.”

“Oh my God.” Brendon released Ryan to cover his mouth. “Ryan, this is terrible. How could he… So, you’ve just been alone this whole time?”

“It’s given my foot time to heal.” Ryan lifted and flexed his healed foot, broken glass removed and secret revealed in a room not too far from where they were standing then.

“The glass was him too… Oh Ryan. H—How did I not know? Oh God, now I feel like I’ve said so many boneheaded things. I must’ve made an ass of myself talking about my parents and my goddamn nose story. You—You are going through so much more, God, Ryan I am so fucking sorry. I—” Ryan placed a hand on Brendon’s face, avoiding his swollen eye and cheek, freezing his words. “I’m just _amazed_.”

“What? Amazed with what?” Ryan wanted to laugh, the word unlikely to be connected to any topic they were discussing, but he could only wheeze out a sigh.

“You.”

“No. No you’re not.” Ryan coughed again. “Not me.”

“You act mysterious and like, it’s dangerous to know you, but you’re fucking _suffering_.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ryan wasn’t a pity case. “I’m fine.”

“You were starving. You were scared by my fucking running mouth, and William’s strangely close-minded parents, that you walked in front of a car.” He did know. He knew the moment Ryan started running.

“But you were crying at that dinner.” Ryan argued. “I’m not _suffering—_ ”

“It’s just loud voices and screaming… it sometimes gets me worked up. You saw why.” Brendon cut in, placing his hand over Ryan’s. “It’s from something a while ago that I work on. But it’s behind me. _You_ , this is happening now. You are in the hospital from all the _shit_ surrounding you. And now you have nowhere to go and no one to look after you.” Brendon shook his head, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Crying seemed to be painful to him.

“This wasn’t how I wanted this to go.” Ryan wanted Brendon to feel understood in his problems with Dallon and any past ones with his parents. Ryan didn’t want to become the main focus again. He wanted to help. “I don’t need someone to watch over me. I’m fine.”

“Move in with me.” Brendon blurted. Despite the swelling, his eyes were wide and completely round.

“What? N—No. I can’t do that. Your parents. Dallon. What the fuck are you thinking?” Ryan denied the idea right out of Brendon’s mind. That moment was the perfect opportunity for Ryan’s jolting heart and swooning naivety to make his life worse.

“Right… Shit. Fucking rules.” He sighed. “Can you stay with one of your friends?” Pete was a firm no—he wasn’t even considered a friend anymore; Patrick was a choice, but Ryan didn’t know how his destructive life would blend with Patrick’s well-balanced and perfected life; William was already moving in with Gabe so the two of them were already their own first priorities; and Spencer’s mother already had three children to feed and care for without Ryan’s frail and injured body slumping on her couch. He knew any one of them would reach out and help Ryan within a moment’s notice, but he couldn’t ask them to take on his burden, take on every single one of them.

“Yeah. I’m sure I can ask one of them.” Ryan lied, grinning through his own discomfort.

“Yeah?” Brendon looked relieved, shoulders falling as he sighed. Ryan was put first in his world again. It was all backwards; Ryan had come trying to help Brendon but only made himself look more the victim. He was the worst, kicking a man that was already down. “Oh good. Promise me you’ll let me know how it’s going, okay?”

“Definitely. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay. Okay, good. That’s good.” Brendon nodded quickly, leaning down to collect the materials he dropped. “I have to run these somewhere, but I’ll be back if you need me—”

“I’ll be okay. Just, uh, where’s a phone?” Ryan thumbed around them.

“What? Like, a pay phone?” Brendon asked. Was it that strange a request? “Yeah. There’s one near the lobby, down this hall.” He pointed and Ryan followed his direction immediately, knowing how long it took him to get down a few floors. “Wait. You’ll need this.” Brendon reached into his jeans, Ryan only noticing now that they weren’t the usual khakis but rather actual denim jeans cuffed at the ankles, showing Ryan more of the pink, paisley personality he got a glimpse of the night before. He was trying to recover from his exposure to screaming and abuse with little splashes of personal statements and comfort, and Ryan was making him into a volunteer again. He extended his hand with assorted coins sitting in his palm. “For the ‘pay’ part of ‘pay phone’.”

“Do you carry change for this exact reason?” Ryan asked, almost disgusted by the kindness.

Brendon laughed quietly, turning his hand over to place the change in Ryan’s hand. “No. I bought a banana from the cafeteria. Although, that would make me look like a great boyfriend, huh?” Brendon choked on his laughter, his hand opening suddenly and dropping the change on Ryan. “I mean, a great boyfriend to someone.”

“Yeah. Pretty great.” Ryan nodded, tightening his fist around the money. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“I’ll let you make your phone call.” Brendon’s face twitched as if he made the motion to wink, but his eye was already half closed. Ryan and Brendon passed each other and continued their separate ways, as if they weren’t leaving their conversation completely different people; newly exposed and somehow already boyfriends. Ryan still hadn’t shown Brendon he could be brave; he had still denied his hand and hadn’t taken it again.

Ryan followed Brendon’s directions to the end of the hallway, the lobby doors off to his right and a row of telephones along the wall. No one was around to use them. Ryan fed the coins into the slot on the left most phone without looking at any of their values. He propped himself up against the wall beside the phone, his IV behind him and keeping someone from considering using the phone beside him, even just for standing space. He dialed the same number he always called. The number probably changed, but Ryan was set in his ways. He needed to hear it. Hear the silence.

“ _The number you have reached is no longer available. You can hang up or try your call again.”_ The phone hung up on its own, disconnecting Ryan’s attempt to call the number, but he pretended the clicking sound was someone answering.

“Hey, Mom.” Ryan sighed. “I fucked everything up so badly. I miss you.”

She was silent.

“I don’t know how to be a friend to anyone anymore. Like, Jesus what the fuck is wrong with me… Will is fucking losing his shit and Gabe is a better dad than your husband ever was.” Towards the end of the divorce, Ryan called his father simply his mother’s husband. He wasn’t really family. “And now, there’s this boy. Finally, a boy, and I am fucking it up so badly with him. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying to remember what you told me… we were out on the porch, you held my hand and you just told me to be myself. But I am starting to think that you actually steered me wrong there, Mom. I’m starting to think that’s not such a good idea.”

_Ryan, my beautiful baby boy, you are such a sweet boy._

_Your father doesn’t see how beautiful you are, inside and out._

_You have so much promise, Ryan. Just be yourself._

“Mom, he’s so nice. He fucking gave me change for a payphone. He buys fruit for breakfast! He wears pink ties and plans outfits for dates. He has a family. He’s beautiful, Mom. I wish you could help me. I don’t want to blow this. I try to reach out to him, help him, and I keep making it about me. My secrets are spilling everywhere. And… And I wanna come home. I miss you. I wish I was with you... I tried to, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“ _If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again._ ”

“Bye, Mom. Talk again soon. Love you.” Ryan hung up, Brendon’s coins already sitting in the dish at the bottom of the phone, having been spit out after his failed call. He’d return it to Brendon as his first attempt to make things right. He’d given him back eight-five cents in assorted coins. Hell, maybe Ryan could find a dollar bill and round up. He could buy him another piece of fruit to keep him going through his workday. Ryan could care about other people; his mother raised him right. His mother would like Brendon, had she lived to see Ryan at this point his life. She would have loved all his boyfriends. She said so herself. She promised Ryan she’d love anyone he chose to love as much as she loved him. Ryan never really knew how much that was, but he always assumed it was an overwhelming amount; it was how the thought made Ryan feel.

Ryan had to walk back to his room in solitude. He wondered how much the man from the elevator loved his son. He probably loved him an uncontainable amount. He probably worshipped that small boy, buying him every toy he wanted and buying everything in his favorite color. That boy felt loved, he just had to. Ryan felt less alone when he settled on the conclusion that Dean was the most loved child in that hospital—and he wasn’t even sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Quick author's note:  
> I start college again within the next two weeks, so updates will continue, but just at a slower pace. For more updates on when/how things are going, I always post things on my Tumblr about progress and such, so definitely check things out there if you are curious.  
> Love y'all and thank you for being so damn great xoxo


	12. Choice and Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for being so awesome with the comments and love AND for being so patient as I juggle writing and going back to college. Worked hard to get you another update, hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please feel free to share your awesome theories and (more likely) all caps reviews in my ask on tumblr, @breakfastbeebo, or down below. (Although side note: I am almost always on mobile so I don't reply to the comments here but, I do see and APPRECIATE them. I love all of you.)
> 
> ANYWAY, onto the chapter!

Spencer arrived sometime in the late afternoon; Ryan’s room didn’t have a functioning clock. It had been hovering in the minutes past four since Ryan came to with full consciousness—and probably before then. Ryan had been existing, or rather _hadn’t_ been, for most of the afternoon after returning from the first floor. His walk back was longer, Ryan having to stop to gather his breath, thoughts, and consciousness frequently. Exhaustion and burning pain was a hazing combination. He eventually fell sleep after at least an hour of tossing and turning, getting only twenty minutes of peaceful sleep before someone down the hall had an emergency that woke the entire floor. Ryan stared at the clock and tried to predict the time, hoping it would move.

Below the clock was the door to Ryan’s room, closed over to try and hinder the waves of noise from the hallway. Ryan had closed it himself after some self-convincing and muttered swearing. He had been back in bed not a minute before it swung back open, Spencer walking in.

“Sorry I’m late!” He said, closing the door with his hip. “I’m here with dinner though!”

“You can’t be late for something you didn’t make plans for.” Ryan reasoned, settling against his pillows.

“Still, I didn’t want you to think that I forgot you.” At least Ryan still had Spencer. He had him in spotted increment’s during football season, but he still had him. Always would. “I just got stuck in a little post-accident traffic getting us our usual dinner.” He held up the tin foiled, loaf shaped objects in his hands. “Burritos.”

“Oh my god, I’m starving.” Ryan sighed, clapping his hands together and resting them in his lap. His IV was able to go unnoticed after nearly twenty-four hours of having it.

“So I’ve been hearing.” Spencer said. He pushed the wheeled table towards Ryan’s bed. “Figured you deserved a full one.”

“It’s nothing.” Ryan defended. “Dad’s just been low on cash. Work’s cutting jobs and salaries left and right.”

“You sure?” He placed their food on the table, freeing both hands to motion Ryan over to the right-most side of his bed. Ryan looked as his hands as he shifted, mostly to nod and avoid lying directly to Spencer’s face. “Because we can talk about whatever it’s ‘not’.” He said, hoisting himself up into Ryan’s bed, squeezing his shoulders beside Ryan’s.

“It’s really nothing like that, Spence. I promise. I eat _whenever_ I can.” It just didn’t happen to be very often, but Ryan didn’t say that.

“Okay, okay good.” He nodded. “Because now that that’s aside, we have _actual_ things we need to talk about, Ross.” Spencer pulled the table over them, dinner and gossip ready. He placed a hand over Ryan’s food, keeping his attention a moment more.

“What?”

“What have you done to Pete.” He laughed, lifting his hands. “He lost his fucking mind when you got hurt—and even more so when he heard you were with Brendon, which is another question,” He lifted his eyebrows. “But what’s been going on?”

“Spencer, there really isn’t—”

“If you say nothing, I’m going to eat your dinner.” Spencer said firmly. “We’ve both been MIA for a bit since school started. Catch me up. What’s wrong?” Spencer bumped Ryan’s shoulder. “You know I’m always here.” Ryan knew, he had just been trying to forget recently; if no one that knew his secrets cared, it was a good enough reason not to tell Brendon anything and recede to a life that could end in a sudden death without consequences. But Spencer knew and he still cared. Just like Ryan’s mother.

“Well, for starters, half of it is about Brendon.” Ryan admitted, peeling back the foil to his burrito.

“No, I asked about Pete.”

“Would you shut up, Daily Bugle? I’ll get there.” Ryan rolled his eyes and took his first bite. It was another family dinner, but the scenery was different—not that that made any difference. “So—god this is good—I kissed Brendon.”

“You did what?” Thankfully Spencer hadn’t taken his first bite, or else Ryan would have been wearing a mouthful of chewed tortilla.

“Yes, okay, I kissed a boy, relax. Quit the fanfare.” Ryan said, his mouth full. “That’s not the important part.”

“No! It totally is! What do you mean you _kissed_ him? Or did he kiss you?” Spencer asked, placing his food down for more pressing matters.

“He did—but it doesn’t matter!” Ryan insisted. He wasn’t trying to withhold information, he just felt embarrassed.

“How was it?” Spencer grabbed Ryan’s arm and leaned into his side. Ryan shook his head, not about to try and describe Brendon’s features and his nervous smile. “Oh, c’mon. Just ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Was it good? Everything you dreamed of? Better than that?” Ryan nodded a clear three times. “Fuck! Go, Brendon—and go, Ryan!”

“Can I _please_ continue?” Ryan had a perspective changing event approaching in the back alley of a gas station; he didn’t want Spencer to be to giddy when he crashed down with reality. “After we kissed, it was late and I was so high and excited and fucking stupid, I called Pete. I wanted to know why he never kissed me—you know he had that thing with it.”

“You _didn’t_!” Spencer gasped. “You called him?” Spencer apparently wanted to have the news reach every room in the recovery wing.

“Text him. Asked him to meet me where we used to hang out… and I asked him point blank.” Out loud, the plan sounded a lot crazier and bolder than Ryan remembered it. Maybe he was brave.

“Then what?”

“Well, he was drunk.” The fact choked up Ryan more than he expected. He chose to leave the fact stand by itself, acting like Spencer could piece it together on his own.

“ _And_?”

“And he threw a fit. He started slurring and yelling and then he tried to kiss me.” Ryan decided not to end that sentence with a bite to his dinner. “He didn’t though.”

“Jesus.” Spencer sighed, looking into some space between them, surely picturing Pete’s behavior the past few days and viewing them through Ryan’s eyes. “That’s terrible. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He’s just making things with me and Brendon and lot bigger than they are. We’ve kissed once and like, now he’s plotting revenge and rebounds and getting angry that I’m leaving him. I haven’t even been on a proper date with Brendon… Pete’s making it weird on purpose. Like an asshole.” Ryan grumbled.

“You had a thirty second fling.” Spencer laughed, cooing. Ryan glared. “You and Brendon hit it off and he’s angry. Not to belittle the issue, but this is the most normal high school boy thing you’ve ever done. I’m so proud of you.”

“Well, I hate it.” Ryan sighed. “I’m just trying to have a real relationship here.”

“A _what_?”

“Oh no.”

“Does Ryan Ross want to actually date someone and label it as his ‘boyfriend’?” Spencer gasped incredulously. “Those therapists were so wrong about you.”

“Shove it, Spencer. I can’t go to college with the emotional investment of an eleven-year-old.”

“Uck, college. Don’t remind me. You have to leave. Everyone does.” Spencer said. He reached forward to grab his food, deciding this was the moment he wanted to lessen his attention towards.

“I’ll still be in Nevada.” Ryan said. “I’m not _dying_.” Ryan didn’t plan on it. If he did get accepted to UNLV, he would finish his mother’s degree.

“I know, but everyone’s going to be graduating. Even Gabe.” Spencer muttered. “Everyone’s going to scatter to the wind. Patrick’s looking at someplace in California, Will’s probably going to Northwestern, Gabe is… well, he’s Gabe so he’ll have everything somehow planned out by the end of the summer, even the he-devil himself is planning on going somewhere farther away.”

“Spencer, I’ll stay and visit on weekends and holidays.” Ryan promised. He didn’t have anywhere else to stay.

“Really?” Spencer seemed shocked. “You won’t be too cool to hang out with your high school neighbor.”

“Spencer, first off, you half raised me, half grew up with me.” Ryan said. “Secondly, I’m not too cool for anything. Ever. So shut up.”

“Love you.” Spencer leaned on Ryan’s shoulder, squeezing his IV-free hand. “Happy you’re okay.”

“Me too, Spencer.” Ryan admitted, squeezing back. “I’m happy everyone’s okay; Will, Pat, Gabe, you… _Will_ , again.”

“You’re a good person, Ryan, you know that?” Spencer said, lifting his head. “We’re lucky to have you.” No one had ever considered Ryan any form of luck. He was always the heartless voice of reason to every bad decision (echoed of course by a more heartfelt Patrick). Ryan never knew his friends ever thought anything of him.

“Thanks, Spencer.” Ryan said. He turned to look at Spencer, a full grin splitting his face. “Love you too.” Ryan had to admit loving and being loved by someone else, even platonically, didn’t hurt as bad as he thought it would. He’d have to ask Gabe, next time they had another inevitable heart-to-heart, if it was painful to love William; if being head over heels in love was something Ryan should extend his hospital stay for. Although, staying in the hospital would most likely be keeping him closer to his cause of pain anyway. Maybe he should consider one of the pamphlets he had discarded on his side table—maybe letting himself be loved would require more around the clock care, and maybe a little God.

* * *

“I’m sorry, the capital of Uruguay is _not_ Montevideo.”

“I beg to fuck it is.” Gabe jumped to his feet and shouted at the television in Ryan’s room. Spencer was still sitting beside Ryan, their burritos finished and foil balled up and by the trashcan; Ryan was less of an athlete than he thought, missing both shots. “It totally fucking is! Trebek what are you _saying_.”

“Gabe, sit down.” Spencer laughed, pulling him back into his plastic chair. “The guy grossly mispronounced it so technically, it’s wrong.”

“They should account for white people’s mispronunciation.” Gabe argued. “It’s the fucking capital.”

“Gabe, it’s not your money.” William pointed out, eyes fixed on the newspaper in front of him. He had been doing a crossword most of the evening, muttering clues under his breath while also answering Jeopardy questions out loud. Not that Ryan was accurately keeping track, but William was winning by at least a Daily Double and a half over Gabe.  “You still know the answer.”

“But _they_ don’t.” Gabe waved a hand out to the TV. “I can’t just _let them be wrong_.”

“Jesus, arguments between you two must be brutal.” Spencer said.

“You remember sophomore year.” Ryan said quietly, leaning his head on Spencer’s shoulder to both lower his voice and ease himself into a comfort he had missed. “They had that blow out fight for like, a week.”

“We don’t talk about that.” Gabe turned his hand to point at Spencer instead of the incorrect contestant. “I still maintain Will’s lab partner was being too flirtatious.”

“Now look what you’ve done.” William muttered, scribbling down another answer. “You’ve made him jealous again.”

“It’s one of my many flaws.” Gabe stated loudly. “It’s just so happens to creep up when we talk about this.”

“You really think my lab partner can compete with you?” William said with a smirk, looking up at Gabe. “He doesn’t even know how to _spell_ Montevideo. And he’s about a foot shorter than me. No thanks.”

“Not into short guys?” Spencer mulled the preference over. “I mean, I see it. Sorry, Ryan.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ryan cried. “I don’t have a thing… Okay, one guy is not a preference.”

“Gabe,” William said, holding a hand out to pull him into his arms. “about how high does Brendon come up on you?”

“About knee length, why?” He replied without hesitation.

“Fuck all three of you.” Ryan muttered. “You’re all jerks. I’m _wounded_. You are supposed to be helping me recover, not giving me more strife.”

“This is not strife. This is normalcy.” Spencer chuckled. “This is what you’re missing at school. Although, without Will for a while, Gabe’s mostly making a fool of himself all on his own.”

“Excuse me, I am doing _great_ this semester.” Gabe said, busy carding his fingers through William’s hair, untangling it from its bun. “I have at least a B across the board. Even history.”

“Good for you, man.” Ryan nodded. “Even though you’re sleeping with your tutor.” Spencer tried not to laugh, but was sure to high five the hand Ryan placed on his leg subtly.

“And I have a completely healthy and supportive way to study _and_ destress.” William said, still taking more interest in his crossword, his motions deliberately slow and smug. “And have you _seen_ my student?”

“I was in gym Freshman year, yeah. I’ve seen.” Ryan nodded. “Congrats.” William pretend to take the accolade with grace, bowing in his seat. The laughter he suppressed bubbled out and Gabe echoed it as he wrapped both arms around his shoulders. Their joy was infectious and Ryan soon found himself leaning into Spencer, laughing to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time being around his friends to be so enjoyable. He wasn’t sure if it was the specific company or his new attitude, but he was glad he was able to have such safety and kindness in a place he wanted nothing more than to leave and forget about. Ryan closed his eyes and listened to Gabe gloat at the compliment.

“Are we keeping you awake?” Spencer whispered, trying to ease Ryan off his shoulder to try and slip off the bed.

“No, stay. It’s fine. I want to hear Gabe fail at Wheel of Fortune.” Ryan muttered.

“Are you sure? We can go if you want.” William insisted.

“No, really. Stay.” Ryan said, yawning. “It’s nice to have company.”

“Especially when you have those intense religious people around here.” Gabe added. “It’s like a fucking cult in here.”

“What?” Spencer asked, nudging Ryan’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Ryan muttered. “It just involves more Brendon stuff.” Reliving the conversation between Dallon and Brendon, and the shame shadowing the room, twisted Ryan’s insides into knots. “Remember that tall guy that wasn’t going to let Gabe and us see William?”

“Daniel?”

“Dallon.” Ryan said. “Well, he’s far more intense than we imagined.”

“And incredibly rude.” Gabe scoffed. “Fucking asshole acted like Bill and I were practically pissing on the Bible by just holding hands." As if reminded, Gabe grabbed William’s hand tightly. He held it on his lap as he sat on the armrest of William’s chair.

“Are you kidding?” Spencer gasped. “Jeez, Ryan. We need to get you out of here.” Ryan couldn’t have agreed more, but with nowhere to go besides an empty house, likely to lose power and water, Ryan settled for a quiet hum of agreement.

“Ryan, we should probably call your dad.” William said, cheerful although his words were poison. “You have your mom as your emergency contact, and she hasn’t answered yet.”

“Why? Why do we have to call him though?” Ryan asked, fighting William on a topic he didn’t think was an issue. His face crumpled, concerned by Ryan’s snapping attitude. “I’m eighteen, I can be asked to be discharged all on my own.”

“I—I know you can. We just wanted someone to take care of you while they’re in school and I’m in therapy.” William said softly, looking up at Gabe to confirm he hadn’t said too much of the wrong thing. Gabe smiled at him and truly, William didn’t say anything that wasn’t kind and compassionate, but for Ryan, calling his dad wasn’t the way to be well taken care of.

“Let us call someone to look out for you.” Spencer agreed.

“Or I can just stay here, where people get _paid_ to do that.” Ryan countered. Stay where someone knew what lay at home for him. He could stay somewhere that could protect him and keep him blind for a moment more. Yes, Brendon was at the hospital, but the longer he stayed, the longer Ryan could watch out for Brendon too. He wasn’t going to leave if he didn’t know for certain that Brendon was taking care of himself.

“If he doesn’t want to leave, then we won’t make him.” Gabe said over the layering voices. “It’s up to him. He’ll be discharged when he’s ready.”

“Are you _sure_ , Ryan?” William grabbed both his hands and spoke softly. “I know I was in a different place than you when I was here, but don’t stay here if you don’t want. I understand—”

“Bill. Shut up.” Ryan said. “Go home. And take your husband with you.” Ryan rolled his eyes as William giggled at the joke.

“Husband? That’s new.” He squeaked to Gabe, getting to his feet. William seemed joyed by the idea far more than Ryan expected. He had been positive that Gabe and William had discussed the idea previously. How could they not? There weren’t two people Ryan knew that were more in love with each other, but from William’s surprise, it seemed Gabe’s projected vision was one he had only shared with Ryan on their drive back from the football game. Ryan tried to act like he was teasing rather than being somewhat genuine and pleased.

“Yeah, funny, huh?” Gabe tried to share William’s joy, but instead began looking nervous, obviously the first time the idea had confronted them without preparation. “Can you imagine the scene your parents would make?”

“Can’t make a scene if I don’t really talk to them anymore, can they?” William shrugged. He leaned over and hugged Spencer and Ryan simultaneously, announcing his exit. Ryan was unable to hug back, his own fear keeping his hands firmly by his sides as William toyed with the idea of cutting his family out. Without a family of his own, the notion struck Ryan still.

Ryan had no choice in the matter to become an orphan; it happened without any consideration to him and in fact the more he tried to interact with his family the worse it became. William actually had a family, and he was ready to push them away. Ryan fought the urge to feel jealous, to envy William’s position. Ryan was sure if he had a family at the moments he was at his worst, it would help immensely to be able to pull the plug on his own, rather than being left behind. Choice was liberation, and Ryan was constantly putting himself in situations that let people decide for him.

“Hey, Spencer?” Ryan asked, watching the door close behind Gabe and William. His eyes were closed and he hummed to alert Ryan he was listening. “Can you find Brendon for me?”

“Aren’t I enough for you?” Spencer teased, cracking an eye open. “I thought we had something special.” He turned onto his side and curled into Ryan.

“We do, Spence, we do.” He laughed, placing a hand on Spencer’s head. “You just don’t have the medical experience to properly dismiss me from a hospital.”

“Not to your knowledge, babe.” Spencer patted Ryan’s hand, careful to avoid direct contact with his IV. He didn’t ask about Ryan’s change of heart after the exiting of William and Gabe. He accepted the silence Ryan had spent thinking. “But I suppose I should grab your boyfriend.”

“He’s _not—_ ”

“If he’s kissed you and he’s your type, then he’s your _something_ , Ryan.” Spencer argued. “Maybe that’s something you can discuss.” Spencer patted Ryan’s hand a second time before rolling away from him and getting off the bed. “I’ll send him in and be in the cafeteria. I’ll be back later, I’m your date tonight since Will is now living at Gabe’s.”

“Oh good.” Ryan sighed. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Shut up and let me get your—” Spencer stopped speaking, lifting his hand up to silence Ryan’s beginning argument. “Your Brendon.”

“Not good enough.” Ryan called after him, sitting up. Spencer waved him off with a grin as he stepped into the hallway. He immediately flagged down a nurse passing by, his indistinguishable charm still heard from Ryan’s bed.

Ryan smoothed out his blankets and hospital gown, wanting to look far better than he did when he ran into both Pete and Brendon. He was feeling better, sore and impossibly tired, but better. Things felt lighter, things felt manageable somehow. It was likely a fantasy driven by desperation, but if delusion was Ryan’s next step towards peace, he was going to let it lead him astray. He had tried everything else, it was about time he tried something that felt good, made him trust people, let him feel adored and flattered, let him kiss someone. If being deluded was his ticket out of the hospital, Ryan wasn’t about to raise any questions. Spencer would send Brendon in, and Ryan wouldn’t ask a single question of why, but rather a sigh of revelation. Maybe he’d get it right this time—if he didn’t fuck it up like he always did.

A light knock on his door startled Ryan from his intent gaze on his healing bruise and protruding IV. Brendon had put the IV in, trying to do as much as he could to give Ryan comfort when he most likely grumbling gibberish, or knocked out cold entirely. Ryan couldn’t remember if he had even thanked him.

“Come in.” Ryan said. A pair of scratched glasses peered through the crack in the doorway, their lenses magnifying the swelling bruise beneath them.

“Hey! How is everything? Are you okay?” Brendon asked, entering the room with careful steps, easing the door closed behind him. He let them be alone, stepping up to Ryan and immediately taking his hand. “Spencer said you asked for me… Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. I just wanted to ask you something.” Ryan said. “I’m curious if you have any say and when I get to go home.”

“Home?” Brendon echoed. “Already?”

“I can’t keep sitting around waiting for standoffish doctors and the dick you call a religious mentor to come strolling through that door.” Ryan sighed. “I’m already feeling better. Really. My stitches don’t even hurt.” Ryan knew he’d have to be back to have them removed and his hideous scar stared at by doctors in blinding artificial light, but at least he could hide in his room in the meantime. No one would make a decision for him. No one would make a house call. Except maybe to repossess the house.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, but…” Brendon smiled, placing a hand on Ryan’s face, his thumb grazing the bandages on his head. “I can’t let you leave if you have nowhere to go. Have you asked someone to help you?” Ryan hadn’t asked anyone, and he hadn’t even given himself enough time to think of a lie. Before, Ryan could spit them out faster than the other person could expect an answer; lying to Brendon was harder, knowing that he could sift through to the truth.

“I’m going to ask Spencer.” Ryan used future tense, half intending to ask and half putting it off. “I want to attract the least amount of attention to my house being deserted.”

“I can’t. Not in good conscience.” Brendon said, biting his lip. He tucked hair behind Ryan’s ear, cracking a grin at the curls sliding through his fingers. “I can’t, not knowing if you’re safe or in danger.”

“I could say the same about you working here.” Ryan countered, both his eyes focusing on Brendon’s black eye. “Why don’t you leave here?”

“That’s different.” He said firmly. “I have my reasons.”

“And I have mine.” Ryan argued. “I want to keep my life as normal as possible to my friends for as long as I can. I know I have to start asking for help, but I can’t do it yet. Not now. What excuse do you have?”

Brendon’s hand dropped from Ryan’s face, his eyes falling to the hem of Ryan’s gown he was twisting. “I don’t want to go to the Dominican Republic.”

“What?”

“I’m eighteen years old and I’ve never been to the DR. And they are demanding that I go.” Brendon muttered.

“What in God’s name for?”

“Exactly.” Brendon said, leaning against the hospital bed. “I have to go for my mission. To become an Elder.” Ryan remembered the eavesdropped conversation he witnessed, Dallon holding his power over Brendon, literally slapping him in the face with it. Brendon had to work at the hospital to put off his non-negotiable order to spread the word of his God to the people of the Dominican Republic. Brendon was withholding the last grip his parents’ religion could have on him, but Dallon was only gaining a stronger grip over him. “It’s either I’m here, or I’m there.”

“There’s nothing else?” Ryan didn’t want to insist that there was another way, knowing that that insistence when he was struggling was always the worst. He didn’t know Brendon’s situation, didn’t know what he’d tried to do before to evade his cementation in his religion.

“I mean, I could leave the church, but that’s not about to happen.” Brendon laughed weakly, the thought and option already having been explored tirelessly, leaving him exhausted. “My mother would be devastated.” Ryan bit his tongue to avoid any snappy response that spelled out his jealousy. “She’s been so loyal to the church and has been so excited for me to go, but also forgiving my hesitance because she doesn’t want to live in an empty house without her youngest son. If I told her now, it’d be like spitting all over everything she’s done for me.”

Ryan could respect the need to please and respect one’s mother; he’d been doing it post-mortem for six years. His mother never saw anything he did, anyone he met or dated, but he always considered her two cents. He could never spit on her grave, after being blamed for the one who put her in it. But, even in life, how could Brendon deal with verbal and physical beatings simply to not seem ungrateful for his mother’s patience. His health had to mean something, even in a religion that cared very little about how he chose to live and love. Ryan couldn’t imagine that he’d be cast completely aside. Or maybe being gay and _then_ renouncing the church was the exact way to be disowned.

“Sorry, I went on too long.” Brendon apologized.

“No… No that’s okay. I don’t really understand organized religion… or family stuff, so it’s okay.” Ryan assured Brendon softly. “I’m sorry you have to stay here.”

“I’ll be alright. It’s not that bad.” Brendon shrugged, sitting on the edge of Ryan’s bed, Ryan moving to make room for him. “All the male interns and nurses try to give me their numbers.”

“Oh, really?” Ryan hummed, releasing Brendon’s hand to cross his arms. Brendon nodded, winking at Ryan’s faux grimace. “And have they seen you in your paisley tie?”

“Of course not. That’s only for special boys.” Brendon placed a hand on Ryan’s crossed arms, tugging on his wrists. “Sorry, _boy_. Singular.” Brendon leaned closer as he pulled more firmly on Ryan’s arms, trying to uncross them without adding any more to his injuries or tugging on his IV. Ryan was able to refuse, lifting his chin in defiance as he held his arms to his chest. Brendon leaned farther in, his hands slipping off Ryan’s wrists and sliding under his arms, wrapping around his waist with enough delicacy that Ryan didn’t even notice until he could feel Brendon’s chest being pressed into his own.

This time there were no freckles, no fidgeting hands, no hesitant moments under bright light. Ryan pulled himself up and pressed his lips against Brendon’s before his eyes even had the time to close. He felt compelled to kiss him, the two of them laughing over an argument that had no heat, no real anger at all. They were laughing like nothing had happened, like they were just two foolish teenagers. Ryan had never been able to embrace the label before, always being so cautious of every move he made and who saw him do it. Kissing Brendon suddenly was reckless and exactly what Ryan wanted to be doing.

Even though Ryan was the one to initiate the kiss, they were both equally startled by it. Brendon muffled a bubble of laughter against Ryan’s lips while Ryan apologized and tried to pull away, although Brendon kept the two of them pressed together. With both of Brendon’s hands wrapped around Ryan’s waist and pinned under his back, Ryan’s were the only ones with the ability to move, to touch. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but he could feel his fingertips tingling as he lifted his hands. With his eyes pressed closed, still trying to deny what he couldn’t see, Ryan’s hands fumbled into Brendon’s arms as he tried to reach for his face. Ryan tried to play it off as a purposeful mistake, rather than an embarrassing display of naivety and inexperience, and gripped Brendon’s arm, thumbs toying with the idea of holding his shoulders. Under his back, Brendon’s own hands were spreading their fingers and holding as much of Ryan’s back as he could reach, trying to hold all of him up off his mattress at once.

Ryan decided his best bet was to follow Brendon’s lead, his own hands sliding over Brendon’s arms and stretching out along his back. Ryan’s hand followed Brendon’s spine down as far as he could reach, the boy arching away from the touch, but closer to Ryan’s body. He had never kissed someone that way before—didn’t really know that it would feel anything like the jolting electricity under his skin— their lips not just slotted together but making frantic efforts to try and get closer. Ryan wondered who was the first boy Brendon ever kissed like that, passionate and with slight clumsiness from nerves. He remembered a story with Brendon kissing someone, Dallon walking in to witness it, but Ryan wasn’t sure if that was his first kiss or his first time being seen in the act. Brendon had all of Ryan’s first kisses, holding them in the same hands that slid across his back and accidentally slipped under his gown, grazing his shoulders.

“Your hands are cold.” Ryan breathed, laughing at the sensation.

“Not cold, clammy. I’m nervous.” Brendon giggled in return, kissing Ryan quickly between sentences.

“I’m not.” Ryan smiled, pulling Brendon back in.

Brendon left his hands on Ryan’s skin, the brush of his fingers mapping the valleys of his boney shoulders feeling like Ryan was being held tightly and safely. He wasn’t cramped in a car or on a bed too small for two people. He was being kissed and although Ryan knew absolutely nothing, he knew they both meant it. They were committing to the feeling, forgetting where they were and what lead them to even be in that room together. Ryan felt like he was leaving his body, eyes easing into a half-lidded haze as he let his lips slide over Brendon’s. Hands were on his back and they were supporting his weight and easing him closer and farther, rather than keeping him still and silent. Hands were feeling Ryan’s bare skin, sliding down his back hastily.

Ryan’s scar might not have burned Brendon’s hand, but Ryan felt the flames light up his entire back.

“Okay, now I am. I’m nervous. Stop.” Ryan gasped, pulling away and pushing on Brendon’s shoulders.

“What? What did I do? What happened?” Brendon adjusted his glasses and pushed his hair back, definitely hoping to push his blush away as well. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Just… uh, maybe a little bit too much right now.” Ryan said, not knowing if it was entirely true. He didn’t know what was too much. He had no gauge for what was appropriate or shameful. He didn’t know what Brendon wanted or what he expected. Pete always made it clear, but Brendon seemed to depend on Ryan. One thing was consistent though between Brendon and Pete for Ryan; the scar was the stopping point. He could kiss, fuck, or be fucked on any number date in any order, but Ryan wasn’t ready to reveal his biggest mistake carved across his back. It made everything less beautiful. Ryan would only become his scar, fingers feeling it over and over; reliving the scene; people asking how it happened again and again; being careful with their words and actions around him, like they were walking on the broken glass that tore him up in the first place. “Not right now.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. No pressure. None at all.” Brendon nodded. “I understand. That was too far.” He sounded uneasy, his words sliding around the other sentences begging to blurt out of his mouth. Ryan was hoping it wasn’t the question that ended Pete’s reign in Ryan’s world: _what is that, Ryan? No, answer me—what did I just feel on your back? Is that a scar?_

“I’m still getting myself back. M—Maybe later?” Ryan offered, trying to amend his wrongs and panic.

“Later.” Brendon agreed. “Maybe fourth date kind of stuff. I’ll bring flowers and everything.”

“Flowers?” Ryan laughed. “I’ve never gotten them before. I don’t even have a favorite kind.” Ryan’s mother had a garden when he was growing up, but in the light of her deteriorating health and divorce the only flowers Ryan learned about were black and wilted.

“Then I’ll get you one of each.” Brendon grinned, patting the top of Ryan’s hands. “And I’ll wear my floral tie. You can take it off… and find your favorites there too.” He winked and Ryan questioned why in his life had he never had dates before.

“It’s a date.” Ryan nodded, eagerness spilling out of him.

“Good, I’ll advise that the doctor discharge you sooner rather than later. Get you home… Where you’re comfortable.” Brendon stood from the bed and checked his watch. “He should still be here.”

“Thanks.” Ryan said, ready to leave the confines and vulnerability provided by a hospital room and be back in a place he knew had locks and a reminder of his mother just down the hall.

“And, of course,” Brendon reached into his back pocket and clicked a pen. He reached over to Ryan’s nightstand, still littered with pamphlets from the morning and ripped a corner off the back page. “Here is the number you should call if you have any problems. The guy who answers the phones is _really_ into you.” Ryan took the corner of the page from Brendon, staring at the digits. With the numbers, Brendon was now cemented in his world, willing to stay and share a newer world with Ryan. He was with him. He was there, and wasn’t going to disappear in a puff of smoke.


	13. Less Heart; Heartless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again! Please enjoy Chapter 13! Finally everything is settling into place (plotwise at least) to really get things rolling for these boys.  
> Thank you for reading, my dears xoxo

Ryan hadn’t driven in a year. He passed his driver’s exam, but then didn’t have any car at home to drive and let the skill slack in the months to follow. Pete always drove Ryan to and from school, Gabe volunteered when Pete was busy elsewhere, and William drove on a rarer occasion than Ryan. Ryan hadn’t driven in a year, and definitely hadn’t driven with aching ribs and fatigued limbs before. He also hadn’t navigated a wheelchair in a long time, but he figured wheeling himself around was a lot more work than actually getting behind the wheel. His arms were getting tense and stung as he tried to wheel himself to the door as quickly as he could—and it wasn’t impressing anyone.

“I _can_ push that, you know.” Brendon laughed, walking behind Ryan, hands resting on the handles behind him; it was protocol that any patient leaving from the recovery wing be wheeled to the entrance. Or at least that’s what Brendon said.

“I’ve got it. My arms work fine.” Ryan insisted. “I can do it.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just saying I could do it for you.” Brendon offered, hand resting on Ryan’s shoulder. He fixed the collar of Ryan’s shirt; Spencer had dropped off clothes for Ryan to go home in since his other outfit was covered in blood and dirt. Brendon’s fingers smoothed the fabric slowly, his fingers taking an accidental detour to brush up against Ryan neck as he returned it to the handle behind Ryan’s shoulder.

“I’m fine. See? Made it to the front doors all on my own.” Ryan lifted his hands from the wheels to rest his stinging palms and burning forearms.

“That’s just the full meal talking.” Brendon walked around from the back of the wheelchair to grin at Ryan. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” Ryan answered honestly. “I haven’t felt this great in a very long time.”

“You sure _that’s_ not just the morphine?” He giggled, nudging Ryan’s shoulder.

“Haven’t needed any in the past few days. Ribs feel good as new.” Ryan took a deep breath in and stretched his arms up. The pain was slow but sharp, twinging in his chest. “Ow.” He laughed at himself, eyes staying on Brendon’s own grinning face and the freckles highlighted in the sunlight leaking in from the front doors. His head hung back and warm laughter joined the conversation like a soothing melody. His smile was bright and laughter was a rich darkness that always made Ryan’s lungs collapse with awe as his stomach pooled with some unidentifiable, bubbling warmth. Brendon was the most beautiful boy Ryan had ever seen.

“What?” Brendon asked, his laughter fading as he found Ryan silent and staring. “Is my laugh that ugly?”

“No. No it’s not.” Ryan said, shaking his head. “No, I was just….” _Lie. Lie. Lie._ “I was looking at your freckles.” Ryan lost the ability to lie to Brendon when he was hopelessly enamored.

“Really?” Brendon wrinkled his face and placed both hands over his cheeks. His fingers grazed the now yellow, healing bruise over his eye. “God, I forget how noticeable they are.”

“I like them.” Ryan said. “I… uh, think they’re cute.”

“Cute?” Brendon echoed, taken aback. “Wow… Well, I have a feeling they won’t be as cute as that battle scar you are about to have.” Brendon dropped one hand from his face to tap Ryan’s bandages. Brendon’s revealed cheek was bright red.

“Don’t remind me.” Ryan grumbled. “I’m going to look like a fucking pirate.”

“No you won’t!” Brendon soothed, petting his hair down. “You actually probably won’t even notice it. The plastic surgeon is very good.”

“But what if he decided some fucking teenage who jumped in front of a car wasn’t worth his best work.” Ryan pondered, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“First, he didn’t. I made sure he understood just who he messed with.” Brendon teased. “And second… not to sound… like _my_ father, but… it’s just a scar, Ryan. You’ll still be cute with it.” He flashed Ryan a grin before winking and running a thumb over his cheek. “I promise. If you do see it, it will be _minimal_.”

“I just don’t want another one.” Ryan muttered, avoiding Brendon’s eyes to stare out the front doors. “I just… I have a really bad history with having scars I can’t seem to ignore.”

“What do you mean?” Brendon crouched beside Ryan, resting his arms on the armrest. He was worried and waiting for Ryan to come clean. He didn’t know a single word of the story, but Ryan felt he had to confess or be seen as a liar. Brendon knew something, he could see it in Ryan’s averted gaze. “Ryan?”

“I… My other…” Ryan twisted the band aid on the top of his right hand. “When my mom left… Uh…”

“I’m listening.” Brendon promised him, touching his hand.

“My dad and I…” Just outside the front doors, a car pulled up, a familiar tall teen climbing out of the driver’s side. “Look, my ride’s here.”

“Ryan, please, if you can—Wait, is that William?” Brendon turned to stare with wide eyes at the boy approaching them. Ryan had seen William, but assumed Gabe would climb out of the car too, considering it was his car, until he remembered it was noon on a Tuesday.

“He drove here?” Ryan asked, surprised.

“Will, hi!” Brendon cut off their confusion as he waved at William entering the hospital lobby. “Thanks for picking Ryan up.”

“Of course, everyone else is at school. And I wasn’t about to let Mrs. Smith pick you up.” William laughed, taking the position behind Ryan’s wheelchair.

“You drove?” Ryan reiterated. The keys were dangling from William’s pointer finger, clanging against the metal handles of Ryan’s chair. “You drove here?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m feeling less great…” Ryan muttered, looking up at Brendon. “Feeling a lot less great now.”

“Will, I didn’t know you could drive.” Brendon lied. He had been in the room on Halloween, overhearing all their shared stories. “I mean, I’ve never seen you do it.”

“Why are you both acting like I’m doing something illegal?” William asked, hands poking Ryan’s shoulders. “I can drive!”

“You cry every time.” Ryan pointed out. “You are intimidated by left turns.”

“Do you want to go home or not, Ryan?” William snapped. “I can drive and I’m offering to drive you home. Take it or leave it.” Ryan couldn’t see William behind him, but through Brendon’s startled expression could predict the narrowed eyes and pursed lips staring at the back of Ryan’s head.

“Sorry. I’ll go with you. Thank you.” Ryan muttered, turning to William. “I’m ready to go home.”

“Be safe. Both of you.” Brendon was talking more directly to the person without stitches and bruised ribs, but Ryan would have echoed the same thought himself.

“We will.” William said, beginning to push Ryan forward. Brendon was still working until later that night and all week; once Ryan was pushed through the front doors, he probably wouldn’t be able to see Brendon until he got his stitches removed.

“See you around, Ryan.” Brendon said, hand reaching out to touch Ryan’s shoulder as he passed. “You know where to find me.” The words were covered in their hidden intention. The lobby was empty, their words adding weight to the heavy silence.

“Do you need a minute?” William asked, stifling his giggles. “I can cover my eyes.”

“Don’t be a child, Bill. There isn’t anything—” Ryan was startled by Brendon leaning down to peck him lightly on the lips. Ryan’s words were barely interrupted, Brendon already backing away before he registered the intimacy. “We’re good.” Brendon was already backing away, stepping on the tips of his toes as he coyly spun around and walked away. He slipped his hands into his back pockets, forcing all attention to focus on his swaying hips and tight khakis. Ryan had so much to learn from Brendon.

“Set to go now?” William asked, patting Ryan’s shoulders again. “Ready to sleep in your own bed, undisturbed by strangers?”

Ryan agreed as William pushed him through the front doors towards Gabe’s car. William was driving for the first time in months— Ryan tried counting but needed a third hand to calculate. William had such a vicarial rejection to driving, Ryan wasn’t sure why William chose the day he volunteered to be an ambulance transport to be the day he got behind the wheel. Ryan had witnessed him pass out from his medication side effects, he didn’t want to see William’s eyes drift closed again while they were fixed on the road.

Getting into the car, Ryan tried to remember the safety precautions built into a car. The front had a crumple zone to absorb any head-on crashes. Ryan couldn’t remember what model Gabe’s car was—did it have proper airbags? Or would they both have only the hard dashboard to slam into incase of an accident. Ryan didn’t think he could be lucky with motor-vehicle accidents a second time around. Ryan wished he had been paying attention when Dallon prayed over him, maybe he’d have something to say.

“All set?” William asked, buckling his seatbelt. Ryan nodded. “Are you sure? You look really pale.”

“Great.” Ryan answered. “Just, can I get home? I’m already feeling motion-sick.” Or was it claustrophobic? Ryan did not want to sit in the sudden metal death-trap any longer than the handful of miles it took to get to his house.

“A-Are you worried about me driving?” William sounded hurt again. “Ryan, I _can_ drive.”

“I know, Bill. I know.” Ryan tried to soothe his worry with the reassurance that William could do his fluid mechanics homework hanging upside down, after an entire can of Four-Loko; driving was a simple-man’s task. Then again, Ryan had heard of the cases where certifiable geniuses don’t have the left-over common sense to be able to tie their shoes. “I trust you.”

“Thank you.” William took a deep breath before starting the car. He pulled away from the hospital and rounded the parking lot to begin the drive onto public streets. Brendon used the road to skateboard home one night, maybe every night. Ryan and William would be safer in a car than standing on a piece of wood. Ryan would be fine.

The highway was a bit more bogged down than either of them expected, Ryan leaning his head back and letting the stillness of the car ease him to sleep. William was explaining the minor flaws in his therapist’s advice—or at least flaws in his eyes, although Ryan thought complete abstinence was a stupid idea too. Ryan nodded along, laughing at William’s previous verbatim rebuttals to his frigid therapist. The traffic began moving in short spurts, Ryan jostled from his sleep, but eyes still closed. He wasn’t giving up that easy.

“He just kept insisting that half of my problem was—” William trailed off, his voice forgetting there were more words to be said. “Never mind.”

“What did he say?” Ryan asked, turning his head towards William. He slowly cracked his eyes open, trying to encourage him to continue creating background noise for Ryan to fall asleep to.

“Nothing.” William said, glancing in his rearview mirror every few seconds before his eyes darted back to the road. His hands twisted tighter around the wheel, his knuckles turning white.

“Will, what’s wrong?” Ryan sat up straight, trying to crane his neck to look through the mirror too. “I don’t see anything.”

“That guy is tailgating me.”

“We’re _parked_ , Will.” Ryan laughed, motioning to the rows of still cars.

“No. He’s _close_.” William insisted. “He’s been behind me for most of the way and he’s just really close.”

“So he’s in a rush. It’s not your fault.” Ryan shrugged. “You’re fine.”

“But he’s annoyed with me.” William glanced up at the mirror to study the face of the driver behind him. He looked away from the road long enough to miss the cars in front of him moving up an inch. Ryan was about to motion towards the road, giving something concrete thing for William to focus on, when his words were disrupted by the long tone of a car horn blaring in from behind them.

William lost all color as he crept closer to the car in front of him. As he slowed to a complete stop, an inch further down the road, his hands released the wheel and wrapped around his waist.

“I don’t think I can do this.” William muttered. “I can’t. I knew I couldn’t. I’m not good at this. I can’t drive. I can’t I can’t I can’t.” The traffic wasn’t moving at the moment, only giving Ryan a very small window to get William focused enough to at least get off the highway. They couldn’t change drivers in the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“Yes you can. Will, you’ve got this.” Ryan encouraged, trying to figure out if placing a hand on William’s shoulder would reassure him.

“No! I can’t! You were even nervous to get in the car with me! I’m a horrible driver! I can’t do this!” William cried, his hands flying up to cover his face. To cover his mouth.

“Will. Are you going to throw up again?” Ryan remembered the first breakdown he witnessed; William threw his guts up, trying to cleanse his apparent anxiety-caused poisoning. “Will. Don’t do that in here.”

“I can’t drive. I can’t do anything on my own.” He cried, his breath turning into gasps between his sobs. “I’m so fucking _useless_.” His face turned pale and Ryan could see it turning green.

“Get out of the car, Will. Lean out of the car, NOW.” Ryan yelled, leaning across William to open the car door. As soon as Ryan’s arm retracted, William leaned out the door to begin vomiting.

It was a horrendous sight, watching a grown man—someone Ryan respected as a practical genius—crying and throwing his entire body up onto a highway in stand-still traffic. If he was humiliated in the hallway with his best friends watching, William wasn’t going to be happy about all the people rubbernecking to watch him. William’s arm clung to the door, his other hand fumbling to hold his hair out of his face. Ryan figured he should have been doing that, helping his friend from further embarrassing himself with vomit getting in his hair, but Ryan was scared to make contact with the situation. What could he offer William to cure his panic? Last time, he was too busy trying to think of a comeback to spit at Pete to even comfort William properly.

After a few minutes, William’s gagging began to sound strange, Ryan convincing himself to lean forward enough to investigate; his eyes were puffy and cheeks shining from the tears running down his face. He was sobbing, no doubt, but his chest was still heaving like he was moments from throwing up again—something Ryan didn’t want to interrupt. His breathing was rapid and uncontrolled. He was hyperventilating. Ryan was sure passing out wouldn’t help the situation. He’d have to do _something_.

“Will, hey, it’s okay. It’s not that big of a deal.” Ryan said. “Driving isn’t for everyone.” William only began to shake more. "Uh, shit. No. Uh, it’s okay. You’re not that far from my house. Seriously. You’re nearly there.”

“I still have to sit in the traffic…. I-I have to be in front of this guy. All these people watching me.” William argued, holding the door with both hands.

“I’m here with you though… I’m here. You aren’t alone.” Ryan soothed, reaching over to place a gentle hand on William’s back. “I-I’m not scared. I trust you, Will. You can drive.”

“No I _can’t_!” He screamed. He closed the door, jostling the car. Ryan would have believed anyone if they had said William shook the car with just his voice. “Gabe is going to be so angry.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second. What did Gabe say?” Ryan asked, still trying to keep one eye on the road. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.” William sighed. “He was super supportive this morning when I said I was going to drive you home… He left me his keys with this little note… He signed it with a heart and everything.”

“Gross.” Ryan teased, squeezing William’s shoulder.

“It was so sweet. And now I have to tell him that I couldn’t even drive you a few miles to your house! I have to tell him that I failed. I’m not getting any better.” William placed his hands over his face again and whimpered, his breathing going stagnant as he held out one continuous sob. “I’m such a fucking burden!”

“Will, that’s not true.” Ryan argued. William wasn’t listening to Ryan, his racing thoughts shouting a lot louder than Ryan’s soft whispers. He couldn’t compete with that kind of self-hatred. Ryan knew what that felt like. “Will, come on, he’s not going to be. He’ll be proud you tried! Are you kidding? I’m sure he’s just excited you tried to drive. That’s huge!”

“It’s not impressive if I can’t actually _drive_.”

“It’s impressive you tried something you’re scared of.” Ryan said, trying to pull William’s hands away from his face.

“…you think?” William asked, looking through his fingers and letting Ryan pull his guard away.

“Come on, Will. We’re your friends. And Gabe is your boyfriend—actually, there needs to be a separate word for Gabe. He’s your number one fan. Like, he’d go to war for you. Anything you do is gospel and deserving of worship in his eyes. He left you those keys because he loves you. Not because he _doubts you_.”

“Wow…” William sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Thanks. That really helped.” William pushed his shoulders back in his chair and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“You can do this.” Ryan said. “And you better start doing it now, traffic looks like it’s inching up.”

“Shit!” William laughed suddenly, scrambling for the gear shift and the wheel. “Alright. I can do this.” William inched the car up to the van in front of them, the man behind them scooting up even closer to William’s bumper. He hit the horn again.

“You’re doing fine.” Ryan said, watching William’s eyes sink closed, his breathing slow and even. “Don’t pay attention to him. Think of Gabe.”

“I am.” William muttered. “And Gabe has a lot of road rage.”

“No. No. Then don’t think of him. No don’t.” Ryan begged. “Think of the Gabe that loves you. Not the violent Gabe. Think of how _that_ Gabe would handle this.”

“He’d probably yell at the guy for yelling at me.” William said, looking over at Ryan. His eyes were still red and swollen, tears still welling up even though most had dried. Disaster averted, but they weren’t far enough away from the fall out zone just yet. “Which isn’t helping. I don’t know what to do to ignore him.”

“Uh, what does your therapist say to do?” Ryan asked, craning his neck to look at the guy behind him.

“He says to… To look at the facts, not what the voices say.” William replied.

“Voices?” Ryan echoed. “Will, dude, are you literally hearing voices?” Ryan knew for a fact he was now horrendously out of his levels of expertise.

“ _No_ , it’s just what he calls—whatever. This isn’t working, Ryan. I can’t focus with that damn horn… All I can hear is his fucking irritation. I’m irritating him. Why won’t he just _shut up_!” William yelled, looking into his rear-view mirror. He threw his hands up and gestured sharply with his open hands.

“I think he saw you.” Ryan said, watching as the guy locked eyes with William through the mirror. “Bill, he totally saw you.” The horn stopped, the silence causing a second round of ringing. It was silent. “Guess he wasn’t a fan of that.”

“I guess not.” William muttered, looking at his mirror again. “Drive through my vomit, _asshole_.” William annunciated clearly, lifting his head so his lips were in the rear-view mirror only. “Stress vomit is a _whole_ lot of fun.”

“This is an interesting form of road rage.” Ryan said quietly, watching William grow back into his body, his shoulders settling back against the seat. “We’ll have to tell Gabe.”

“Here, call him for me.” William reached into his back pocket and handed Ryan his cellphone. As Ryan began to dial Gabe’s number—avoiding using William’s premade contact so he didn’t have to see the sickening pet name they had for each other—the traffic began to move again. William gripped the wheel tightly, his fingers still locking into place with discomfort, but confident enough to find his way off the highway without needing to stop and empty his stomach. Crisis avoided, somehow. Ryan was righting his wrongs, slowly and without _any_ idea on what he was doing.

“Hey hot stuff, what’s happening?” Gabe’s voice was already suggestive and he hadn’t even heard a voice on the other end.

“Dude, cool it. Other ears listening.” Ryan said, holding the phone between the two of them. “William is driving.”

“Knew you could do it, babe.” Gabe cheered. “Nothing to worry about.”

“We had one little incident.” William started. “But I did it. I’m still driving. And I wanted to tell you.”

“Made my day, thank you.” Gabe was surrounded by noise, his voice cutting through it with a bright laugh. “Glad you kept driving.”

“I threw up on the street.” William cut in.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“On the street. I leaned out of the car. And, well, I threw up.”

“While you were driving!”

“We were in traffic.” Ryan added. “We’re both safe and he’s better now. Just bring him food when he picks you up from school.”

“Okay… That’s all?” Gabe was asking Ryan.

“Really. He’s doing great, Gabe.” Ryan replied, keeping the road rage as a story for William to tell while they were at Gabe’s dinner table, shoulder to shoulder, pretending to do homework. “Promise.”

“Thank you, Ryan. Thank you for looking out for him.” Gabe sounded relieved. Ryan did something right. “I love you, Will. See you soon.”

“We love you too, Gabe.” William said, allowing Ryan to hang up the phone and place it in the center cup holder. “And I love you, too, Ryan.” William muttered. “Thank you for being a good friend.”

“I—I just wanted to help.” Ryan confessed. “I didn’t really know what to do…”

“And I know panic attacks with stress induced vomiting isn’t something you know how to handle… So, thanks for being there for me.” William looked away from the road for a split second, letting his anxiety subside to grin at Ryan. “I can see what Brendon sees in you.”

“Oh god, not this.” Ryan sighed, covering his face. “I get it from Gabe, I don’t need it from you.”

“Okay, okay!” He laughed. “All I wanted to say is you have a softer heart than you really let on.”

Ryan never considered himself to have a tough heart—he just didn’t want people to think he had one at all. If he had no heart, he couldn’t be heartbroken. He couldn’t be vulnerable. Pete couldn’t think there was anything of his for the taking. Ryan didn’t have to feel bad about not feeling any compassion for his father. His mother would be the only one to know that his heart existed because she felt it beating along with her own; she’d be the last to hear it. Ryan didn’t want his heart to be soft or even noticeable. He wanted it to stay mysterious, just in case it was just as dusty and rusted as it felt those nights when Ryan called an empty phone line to cry to his mother’s quiet soul.

William pulled up to the curb in front of Ryan’s house, the embarrassing lawn and chipping paint now burning into William’s eyes. He had missed it after the football game, having been dropped off first, but now it was on full display in broad daylight rather than shadowing moonlight. He was being exposed with every second William spent looking up at the house.

“Thanks for driving me.” Ryan said, opening the door and readying himself to stand.

“Of course.” William said. “Although, do you mind if I come in for a second? I want to wash the taste of bile out of my mouth.” He flashed Ryan a bright smile and Ryan knew that he was trying to be subtle. He was trying to see where Ryan lived, what kind of squalor he called home. He wanted to mock him. William wanted to see for himself—

No. That wasn’t William. William was Ryan’s friend—he just told him so. He was concerned. He wasn’t trying to pry into anything. He was being honest. He was still coming down from his panic attack. He just wanted to wash his mouth out. He wasn’t even thinking of Ryan’s living situation.

“Sure.” Ryan said. “Just be aware… My dad’s been working late nights so, things might be a little messy.”

“I have a little brother. I am impermeable to mess, Ry. I promise.” William laughed, opening his own car door. “Need help getting out?”

“No, I got it.” Ryan insisted, pushing himself up and to his feet. They ached, but Ryan would be in bed soon enough.

He approached the door faster than he was sure was medically recommended, but he had walked on much worse before. An aching twinge wasn’t anything compared to shards of glass. William trekked behind Ryan, not commenting on the condition of the lawn or the way his house looked to be aged beyond the neighborhood’s years. He remained silent, stepping on the tall grass and making his own collapsed footprints. Ryan didn’t look over his shoulder, knowing if he spent a second looking at William, he’d give off the impression he was in pain—and Ryan wasn’t sure in what way William would’ve interpreted that. Ryan reached the door, his hand gripping the door knob as he fell forward at the last step. The door slammed shut as he fell into it, having been left open before their arrival.

“Dad?” Ryan asked, opening the door again and pushing it open. “Are you home?” The door knob hit the wall behind the door, Ryan opening the door as wide as it could go, as if it would widen his eyes more. “Dad?” The silence that answered was the wrong kind. Ryan didn’t want echoing silence, the kind that reminded him he was alone. He wasn’t there. And neither was any of the furniture.

His father had taken everything.

“Ryan… I don’t mean to be a rude houseguest, but…” William cleared his throat as he stepped into the foyer. His hesitation bounced around the room. “Things seem a bit empty in here.”

“Where’s all the furniture?” Ryan asked, trying to put his hands over the place the couch used to stand, as if it was there but he just couldn’t see it. “I don’t understand.” Why would his father return if only to take everything he had left to his name? Why would his father want to destroy him that much? There was no reason for it. He had gotten his way—he got away from Ryan and didn’t have to see the disgrace his son had become: killing his mother and then twisting away from the male role model his father forgot to set for him.

“Why don’t we sit down.” William suggested, still surveying the room. Still silent.

“Where, Bill? Where do you suggest we sit down? There aren’t any fucking _chairs_!” Ryan yelled, waving his hands out to the room. “There’s nothing.” Ryan was wrong, so awfully and embarrassingly wrong. He thought he would be going somewhere safe, a place to be away from strangers and fucking _Dallon_. But instead now Ryan was away from a person who genuinely cared about him and wanted him to stay in a safe place—an actual safe place. Ryan had fast-tracked himself into getting to a shell of a house, hallowed and silent. Ryan did this to himself.

“I-I’m going to pull the car into the driveway. I’ll be right back.” William said, touching Ryan’s back. “Just in case there’s anything you, uh, want to put in there. In case you want to… go anywhere.” William was already thinking ahead, thinking to what Ryan’s next steps were, to his future.

Ryan eased himself down onto the floor, letting his head rest on the floorboards and placing his phone up to his ear. He didn’t want to hear silence this time. He had about seven rooms of it. He dialed a new number, eyes closed as he waited for the end of silence.

“Well, hello there. Thanks for calling Spring Valley Medical Center, this is Brother Urie, you know, the one who totally has it bad for you. How can I help you, random patient I wasn’t expecting to call?” Brendon was playful and coy. He was never silent.

“Brendon?” Ryan said slowly. “Brendon.”

“Yeah? Ryan? Is everything okay?”

“Remember how you got me discharged because I said I wanted to go back to my house?” He sighed. “Well, slight problem with that.”

“What happened.” Brendon’s voice dropped to a low whisper, nearly being lost in the rush of hospital ruckus behind him. “Ryan, is everything okay? Did something happen with Will—”

“No. It’s not Will. Just…” Ryan wasn’t exactly sure why he called. What did Brendon know? What could he do to help Ryan? He had his own life, his own problems. Ryan wasn’t the only thing in his world—but Ryan just needed to hear that voice. That constant calm that never faltered under Ryan’s weight and worry. “My dad still isn’t home.”

“Oh, Ryan.” Brendon sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“I just really thought he’d be back.” In just the split second the door opened, Ryan didn’t know how much he had been hoping for his father’s return.

“I can be done work by eight tonight. I can make a house call.” Brendon promised. “I can sneak out sooner if I need.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be okay.” Ryan said, hearing William reemerge into the foyer. “I can figure it out on my own.”

“But you don’t have to.” Brendon was so willing to help, and Ryan had to know when to resist the offer; he had to know when he would be asking for too much. “Listen, Ryan,” Brendon laughed softly, its endearing tone still translating across the line. “I’m too invested for heroics.”

“What?” Ryan asked.

“I help people all day long, and for once, I’d like to help someone who’s helping me too.” Brendon explained. “I’ll come by later tonight and we’ll figure things out, okay?” Ryan echoed his mother’s responses, sitting silently on the other end. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Ryan forfeited with grace. And a growing smile on his face. “I’ll, uh, see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” Brendon hung up and Ryan could just imagine the wink, the smile, the charm. It was still just as irritating as the first days they met, but now Ryan didn’t mind letting it be his one admittable weakness. So far, the worst that happened was a couple of freckles and a well-picked floral outfit.

“Okay, the car’s pulled up if you want to… uh, move anything or take anything. I can call Gabe again and—”

“Can we just… sit here instead.” Ryan said, stretching his arms out beside him.

“…sure.” William obliged, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

“I just want everything to stop happening for a few minutes. Just, let me be here and pretend I have a couch and a bed and a father and a family. Let me just pretend.” Ryan kept his eyes closed and tried to imagine the way the house used to be decorated when his mother still lived there; Christmas tree so bright and cheerful it was a grieving experience to disassemble it every January; Valentine’s Day paper hearts hung on every door and personalized conversation hearts on the dinner table; a handmade cake to celebrate Ryan’s birthday and color coordinated streamers to match the icing; a bright maternal smile meeting Ryan every time he returned from school. But that was all gone. It was just empty walls and scuffed floors. It was a coffin, ready to bury the last bit of Ryan’s childhood, giving him silence for good.


	14. God's Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I say this every week, but I LOVED writing this chapter. I was so happy to be able to explore this side of the boys. There is so much more coming your way and I can't wait to share it with you. Be warned there are some /intimate/ scenes ahead. Proceed with that in mind, but otherwise enjoy chapter 14 and if you have any thoughts, you know I would love to hear them! Comment here or bop over to my tumblr @breakfastbeebo! xoxo

“Ryan?”

“What.”

“Is it okay if I go? I—I have to get Gabe from school. He’s got this project and—and he can’t walk home by himself. I couldn’t do that to him. Not since he’s been thinking about what happened back in—”

“Fine. Go.” Ryan answered, still lying on the floor. “I’ll be here.”

“I can come right back.” William promised. “I can be right back after I get him.”

“No. Go home and be with Gabe. He loves you. He’s your family. Stay with him while he’s still there.” Ryan replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” William muttered, his feet shuffling as he got to his feet.

“It means that he loves you so much it’s going to hurt so much more if you’re ever alone.” Ryan grumbled. “You’re lucky like that.”

“Hey, I don’t have a family either right now, Ryan.” William defended himself and his situation sharply. Ryan was glad he still had something in him that fought back.

“You left yours—”

“They don’t  _respect_  me.” William was suddenly shouting, Ryan’s eyes shooting open at the sound. “I know that you weren’t offered the same opportunity, but I  _know_  how  _this_ feels. It sucks. I get it. Don’t take it out on me. Because I’m still here. Okay?” William crossed his arms, tough love coming at Ryan in a whole new way.

“Noted.” Ryan swallowed the resentment that had bubbled into his throat. “Sorry. Just… In my own head.”

“I get it. I was in my own head in a white rubber room. I totally get it.” William laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t think I yelled at my fair share of nurses and doctors… I understand. But don’t let it consume you. Don’t… make everything a poem or dramatic or about  _love_  and  _abandonment_.” William’s foot lightly touched Ryan’s arm. “Life looks a lot uglier when you do that. Again,  _I would know_.”

“Maybe I’ll try it.” Ryan promised half-heartedly. He didn’t want to dwell in his sudden misfortune, but it was the only thing he really had to do until he had someone there to help him make sense of everything. Since William’s parents also decided to up and go, leaving some weird, rude clones of themselves behind to pressure William until he literally vomited, he wasn’t exactly the best person to ask. Ryan knew that similar experiences didn’t mean immediate recovery. He’d have to be tactful. He’d have to cut his shit. He’d let him leave without being  _much_ more of a dick. “Tell Gabe I said hi.”

“I will.”

“And that hot stuff is a really gross nickname for you.” Ryan added. “I preferred ‘tall string bean’.”

“I’ll pass the word along.” William laughed. “Although I’m warning you now, if I find a single string bean in my locker upon my return to school, it’s your ass, Ross.”

“I can take you.” Ryan rolled his eyes before letting them close again. “Although I don’t think I could take on Gabe… So, maybe I take that back.” Ryan peeked through his half-closed lids to wave at William. “Go, get your boyfriend from school before he calls the cops thinking you’ve gotten in an accident.”

“Good point.” William nodded, reaching for the door. “Text me if you need anything. Or Spencer. I think he doesn’t have practice tonight, so, he’s here too.”

“Okay. Noted.” Ryan said.

As William shut the door, the silence became louder, the lack of sound—of life besides his own—ringing in his ears. Ryan didn’t know how he did it before. Then again, he  _did_  jump in front of a moving car so maybe he wasn’t dealing with it that well before. Second chances were annoyingly helpful blessings. Ryan didn’t deserve one. He should have been roadkill, but somehow he lived to see the turn out of his tragic family story. God just couldn’t let him miss that one, could he? No, of course not. Granted, if he  _had_  let Ryan die, sprawled out on that street, he would have let him die in the arms of one of his number one followers. Sure, Brendon wasn’t exactly God’s number one cheerleader, but it was probably in bad taste to let your follower’s budding romance die in his arms after their first date, vengeful God or not. God wasn’t  _that_  homophobic. Even if he was, Ryan had done riskier things in his life; this wasn’t God’s first chance. It just didn’t make any sense to spare Ryan when he ran head first into a car. He tried to kill himself. The words burned in Ryan’s mind, admitting it so bluntly. He hadn’t thought about it in that moment, when he was running, but that’s what it was. He knew running into that car wasn’t going to  _help_  anything. It would just silence all that fucking  _noise_. The noise God apparently decided wasn’t loud enough—so he made it louder.

Ryan should have died hitting that car. He should have sprawled out on that asphalt, head smacking against the ground and scrambling his brain enough to make him feel closer to the stars than the road. Ryan should have died.  But instead, Brendon carried Ryan back to William’s house, babbling and asking for help. He took him to the hospital and gave him an IV, asked for the best doctors to stitch him up, interfered with insulting volunteers, gave him the money in his pocket to use a payphone without Ryan asking, made sure Ryan lived. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him, and honestly, Ryan was a little bitter about it.

He was lying on the old, warping floor of his childhood home, no furniture to even have options as seats; he wanted to be dead. And Spencer always said he wanted to be an only child, but not everyone got their way. Especially not Ryan. Not now.

He had a few hours until Brendon would come over, but Ryan didn’t bother to move. He didn’t want to pass the time remembering how wounded he was from his own stupidity and rejected attempt to die. Ryan refrained from checking the house, seeing just what was taken and what was considered too unsightly for his father to bring with him. Even if things were left behind, it wasn't for Ryan's benefit, it was because his father couldn't stand to look at a reminder of his wife or his son in the new life he suddenly jumpstarted for himself, half-heartedly and completely buzzed. Ryan wasn't even sure if his room still had furniture. He remembered locking it the last time he went out—God knew how long ago  _that_  was—he didn't image his father would break in his door to steal anything. Maybe to see if Ryan was there, but why take his child's bed, his desk, his clothes. Why take his things if he didn't want to take his actual son along anyway? Seemed like a stupid way to ease guilt. Then again, the chances of Ryan's father feeling any guilt about leaving him behind was minimal; it was the first time since Ryan's birth he was finally unattached. No child depending on him, no dying spouse, no college fund to steal from, no responsibility of any kind. What a lucky fucking bastard.

By the time the evening had fully fallen on the house, Ryan was beginning to reluctantly see the reasoning behind getting up—namely to turn on the lights. Ryan though, didn't really know if there would even be power to turn on the overhead lights hanging by the door. God was still meddling in Ryan's affairs though, seeing as though the moon was nearly full and shining through his windows, convincing him to stay horizontal and still for just a moment longer.

There was a knock on the door finally. "Ryan? A-Are you home?" Brendon came over not a minute after he said he would. The completely dark house probably looked less than inviting.

"Coming!" Ryan called, pushing himself up to his feet slowly. His knees cracked and his back ached as he shuffled to the door. Before he reached for the knob, he reached for the center foyer's light switch; one of the few working bulbs in the ceiling illuminated. Ryan still had some hope. "Hi."

"Hi! I came as quickly as I could." Brendon was red-faced and out of breath, his skateboard tucked under his arm. He was grinning through his heavy breathing, happy with his destination.

"Come in... I was just... uh," Ryan looked around at the empty room. "Sitting."

 "Oh, this is perfect." Brendon said cheerfully.

"Perfect?"

"I brought some of my lunch that I didn't get around to, so, now it's kind of like a picnic." Brendon sat immediately down in the center of the room, placing his skateboard and backpack down beside him. "I, uh, figured you don't have a lot of food here right now."

"Thanks." Ryan eased himself down beside Brendon, Brendon's hand reaching out to support Ryan and lower him to the ground with minimal falling. "You didn't have to. I'm sure you're hungry too."

"We'll share." Brendon said, reaching into his backpack. "Second date." He handed Ryan a bag of trail mix before pulling two water bottles out of his bag. Ryan had the growing feeling Brendon planned to share before he even got there.

"So, how was work?" Ryan asked awkwardly, picking at the mix in the plastic bag. Brendon laughed quietly, taking a sip from his water. "What?"

"You don't have to do that formality. My job is boring, I know. You don't have to act like it's worth asking about." Brendon rolled his eyes. "My parents don't even ask anymore."

"Oh. I—I was just curious." Ryan didn't know it was stupid to care about someone; he wanted to try it sometime. "Sorry."

"No. Sorry. I just meant, you don't  _have_  to ask about that. We can talk about anything you want. I feel like my job is just a formality question, you know? I'd rather talk about other stuff." Brendon said, crossing his legs and pulling them towards himself. "I don't have any pleasant stories to share really."

"Oh... so, uh, how's your eye?" Ryan asked, lifting an involuntary hand to reach for it.

"It's better. Doesn't really hurt anymore, but I'm just keeping the glasses on for a bit longer." Brendon shrugged, blinking quickly to demonstrate its healing.

"I still don't know why Pete did that." Ryan muttered, looking at the yellow ring surrounding Brendon's eye. It was better than it being swollen, purple, and red, but still just as painful. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for him. You're not his keeper." Brendon said, taking Ryan's hand that was placed against his face.

"Used to be." Ryan sighed. "I was his public apologist. Although I mostly apologized for his shitty antics to myself. It's second nature now."

"Well here, it doesn't have to be. You can be mad at Pete here. You can stay aggravated and pissed. This is your house. And you're in good company." Brendon laughed. "I'm not exactly looking to be his friend either."

Ryan had been angry with Pete countless times, but he was always quickly talked out of it. Ryan was always the one being ridiculous, being unfair, being unreadable, being pushy, having high expectations, refusing to accept Pete for who he was. Ryan was always the one being unreasonable and forced to take on the responsibility of regulating his emotions, of always being in tune with what would keep the peace the longest. But Pete was the one who had made Ryan feel alienated in his own body and own sexuality. Pete tried to kiss Ryan in an alleyway, drunk off his ass. Pete was the one who punched someone just for being a better friend to Ryan than he ever wanted to try to be.

"I miss the old Pete." Ryan stated, clenching his jaw. "Before all this, before Pat's party, before everything. I wish I never trusted him."

"You couldn't have known he'd turn out this way." Brendon offered an empathetic, quiet voice. "He made all those choices with his own selfish intentions."

"Selfish is a strong—"

"He outed you out of revenge." Brendon said firmly, squeezing Ryan's hand. "That's not a friend. That's manipulative. Seriously,  _fuck_  him."

"No thank you." Ryan muttered with a laugh. "Nothing to write home about."

"I—that's not what I meant." Brendon began laughing, shaking his head at the crimson blush creeping up his neck. "Not what I meant at all... I would never prescribe such punishment."

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that." Ryan giggled, batting a hand at Brendon's knee. "It'll be  _great_  for his ego. His stupid fucking ego. God, I wish I could suffocate him with his own fucking..  _vapidness_." Brendon choked out a laugh, the trail mix in his mouth close to being spit onto the floor.

"Wow... Tell me how you really feel." Brendon grinned. Ryan ducked his head, pulling his outstretched legs back towards himself, consuming less space. Maybe he came on too strong. Ryan had his own faults in the relationship, he couldn't really yell about Pete, he guessed.

"Sorry."

"No, really. Go on." Brendon urged, holding the bag back out towards Ryan. "Rip the guy a new one, he's not here to argue with you. I have a feeling you have a lot of pent up rage. I mean..."  _You jumped in front of a car. You live alone in this empty home. You lie about your dead mother. You aren't honest with anyone but a previously unknown stranger pulling glass out of your foot._  "I mean, you always try to keep the peace with him. Now, I think you have enough reason to be mad at him."

"A—Are you sure?" Ryan was skeptic of Brendon's tactic. What was he trying to get out of Ryan? What did he already see? What did he already know? Brendon nodded and clasped his hands in his lap and looked at Ryan with eagerness and patience. His one yellow eye locked onto Ryan's face stronger than the other. Pete was hurting more than just Ryan; Ryan was a boiling pot and the lid was slowly beginning to lift, his withheld commentary pouring over the sides. "I regret everything." Ryan started. "Absolutely everything."

"Okay." Brendon said, sitting up straighter on the floor. He nodded, trying to comprehend Ryan's cryptic truth.

"He came up to me at Patrick's last birthday party. He—He caught me staring at him. I thought I was being subtle... Exploring my... my  _secret_  within a safe space of friends that probably wouldn't notice." Ryan confessed. "I mean, Will was gay and everyone was cool, right? Will could look at his friends and not have it be anything other than observation. It didn't have to be  _sexual_...

"But he caught me. He said he could tell just from the look. I was apparently being _... predatory_  with just my eyes. How many times had I accidentally come onto my friends with just my eyes? He told me that he would be into if I would keep it to myself—which I was totally onboard with, considering I didn't even know how to control myself, apparently... My friend since freshman year saw me looking at him—just  _looking_ , I mean, I was just  _thinking to myself._ I was surrounded by Gabe and Will, two of the most outspoken and confident people on the subject, and it got me thinking, that's  _all_! I wasn't trying to make anyone uncomfortable. I wasn't trying—"

"You don't have to prove yourself to me." Brendon interrupted, reaching over and grabbing both of Ryan's hands. They were moving, curling in and out of fists in Ryan's lap. "You were just looking. I believe you."

"...the next weekend, Pete picked me up from my house and we just drove around. We didn't say much, at first. We both knew what we were doing in that car... It wasn't just two friends hanging out anymore. It had a purpose. Then, I started just talking, the way friends always do... The way I would talk to Spencer.... and I felt comfortable, I thought. For a moment, we were just back where we started. But then all of a sudden we were pulling up behind our gas station, and he kept tugging on the conversation, making my words flirtatious. I didn't mean for them to be, but also... How do you say no to one thing but not the other?" Ryan shrugged, rolling his eyes. "So I just went with it. I was mostly confused for all of it."

"Really?" Brendon said, eyes wide. His thumb rubbed against the top of Ryan's hand slowly, pushing against a twitch growing in Ryan's hands. He sounded nervous, but Ryan wasn't going to make the obvious conclusion that maybe he didn't know what to expect from sex either. At least, not yet. "That's horrible."

"It wasn't so bad. I mean, I kept it up for a few months after that. It was fine. I enjoyed some of it. But, there was still his refusal to kiss me. I tried a few times, just see what it was like, you know? See what all that... that  _white hot passion_  was like." Ryan made sure to be looking at his hands. He didn't know what his eyes were doing as he looked at Brendon; didn't know if they were broadcasting the same message they were at Patrick's party. Ryan's eyes had a terrible habit of being honest. "He would never let me. I blew him in William's bathroom while he was half faded on a six-pack because he wanted to see what it felt like drunk, but God forbid I wanted to kiss him." Ryan grumbled. "Such a  _slut_."

"Don't say that." Brendon whispered. He moved himself closer to Ryan, his hands releasing Ryan's and resting on Ryan's knees. "Don't internalize his stupid shit."

"It's not that... It's not like I hate being..."

"You."

"Gay." Ryan admitted. "I don't hate it. But, I just look at people like Bill and Gabe and see how happy and loving they are, and then I look at how Pete was to me—and how I was to Pete at the end—and I just want to know what is so ugly in me to deserve that kind of rejection. Why don't I deserve the  _right_  stuff?"

"The problem isn't you." Brendon said softly, leaning towards Ryan, his breath hot against Ryan's lips. His hands were no longer on Ryan's knees, slowly sliding to his thighs, allowing him to lean all the way inward. Brendon hovered over Ryan's lips, letting Ryan initiate the contact, but in the moment, suddenly Ryan couldn't move. Pete still hung bitterly on his lips. It felt vengeful, it felt spiteful.

"Do it." Ryan breathed, resituating himself and inching closer. "I can't do it. Kiss me."

In the middle of Ryan's sparse, dimly light, un-dead living room, Brendon met Ryan with already parted lips and a sigh breezing over his lips just before the kiss. Ryan immediately moaned into it, Brendon's tongue carefully darting over and grazing his bottom lip. It was hot and amazing and  _weird_  and Ryan couldn't help but want him to do it again. He moaned again, lifting his arms up off the floor to hold onto Brendon. He pushed himself forward, their bodies trying to find a way to be closer with their folded legs banging together. Brendon's hands went unnoticed as they slipped their way along Ryan's thighs. The feeling was so familiar, Ryan's brain almost didn't want to notice it in such a new and thrilling situation. But Brendon's light touch was different than heavy, forceful fingers. It was like being touched by feathers, being tickled and shivering at the graze of his fingers. Ryan's hands dropped from Brendon's knees to land on his hands, gripping them suddenly.

"Too white hot?" Brendon sounded like he was a moment from apologizing; Ryan wanted to act fast.

"Nonono." Ryan panted. "No, it's good. It's really good. Let me just... Let me move a little." Ryan held Brendon's hands still as he tried to find a better position for them both on the hardwood floor. The floor was hard and Ryan was far too boney to keep sitting on it, legs bent in front of him to let Brendon run his hands along them, but also getting in the way of them fully embracing. "Here, come closer." He tugged on Brendon's hand and got him to kneel between his legs, Ryan on either side and in front of him.

"I'm okay with this." Brendon nodded, kissing along Ryan's jaw. The feeling of Brendon's lips pulling away slowly, like the two of them were struggling to separate sent electricity through Ryan's body. He hummed quietly, nodding to Brendon's silent question.

"I don't think I'm mad anymore." Ryan muttered, clutching Brendon's back and trying to remain sitting upright. His fingers dug into his work polo, bunching it up in his fists as he tried to find ground in his shivering experience. As he gripped the shirt, it slowly hiked up Brendon's body, exposing his lower back. It was just as a pale and flushed pink as his face. It was dimpled, Ryan's fingers feeling the detail with hesitance and delicacy. The skin was warm to the touch. Ryan felt like it was melting into his hand, or that he was melting into it.

While Ryan's hands were dragging over Brendon's skin, restless and frantic, Brendon's hands slowly began to do the same, creeping their way up Ryan's back. His hands were once again a shocking touch against his skin, making him shiver and gasp, hands splaying across Ryan's back as he tried to pull him closer. His hands gripped Ryan's back, like he was one forceful jolt from picking Ryan right up off the floor. Ryan's legs had wrapped around Brendon at some point forgotten between their panted words and quiet moaning. Brendon was kissing Ryan's neck, Ryan foolishly left to ramble and whimper as Brendon made every inch of his skin feel white hot and tight. One particular patch of skin was the most electric of all: Ryan's back, his scar hypersensitive to the hands centimeters from it. Brendon's delicate fingers would notice it immediately, feeling the rough and ugly edges like a tear in a canvas painting.

"Brendon... Brendon..." Ryan was already muttering his name, but now it needed new purpose. "Brendon, wait. Brendon stop. You're gonna—" He ran his hands over Ryan's scar before Ryan could even properly warn him. His hands slowed to a stop over it, the pads of his fingers tracing it before pulling away upon discovery.

"What is that?" Brendon asked, trying to look in Ryan's eyes. If Ryan closed his eyes, he was back in bed with Pete, the same words trying to grab him and flip him over all over again. "Ryan... Is that from the car accident. No one treated that... A—Are you okay?"

"No, don't ask." Ryan begged, trying to get Brendon to kiss him again. His lips were still. "Don't care, please. It's better when you don't care."

"Ryan, stop." Brendon removed his hands from under Ryan's shirt to hold his back steadily, keeping him at a distance to look at him fully. "Is this what you didn't tell me this morning?"

"It's just a scar. It's nothing." Ryan held Brendon's face in his two trembling hands, trying to reverse the scar's horrible effects. "Please don't look at me like that. Please, it's nothing. Please, don't." Ryan pleaded, Pete's fiery eyes meeting Ryan as he tried to close his eyes to escape Brendon's saddened look. "Just go back to kissing me. Forget about it."

"Can... Can I see it?" Brendon asked timidly, his tone not changing. He didn't sound angry. He didn't pity Ryan. He wanted to see Ryan's body the same way Ryan was curious about Brendon's hiked up shirt. "You don't have to be ashamed."

"Not down here." Ryan said, shaking his head. He didn't want to feel any more exposed in his old living room, a place of countless fights, an official divorce, and every phone call about his mother's degenerating health. He wanted Brendon to just be his for that final moment of vulnerability. "Let's see if my room still has furniture."

"Upstairs?" Brendon swallowed, the concept startling him as they suddenly ended their storybook steamy, late night escape and advanced to rebellious teenagers behind a locked door both cramped on a twin bed. "You want to take me upstairs?"

"Yeah... I don't want to... Show you down here." Ryan nodded. He pointed slowly to the fixed glass door across the house. "I got it right over there."

"Oh." Brendon slowly released Ryan, pulling away and letting them separate. "Let's go then...."

Ryan untangled his legs, using Brendon as a brace before slowly getting to his feet. For a while, he had forgotten all the pain he had been in. Everything had fallen away, but it was still waiting for him the minute he opened his eyes all the way. They walked to the stairs together, Ryan gripping and pulling Brendon's hand along. At the top of the stairs, Ryan felt around in the dark for his door, jimmying it open while Brendon waited patiently behind him, hand sliding down Ryan's thigh.

"You better hope there is a bed in here." Ryan laughed. The door crashed into the desk still sitting behind it, his furniture still there. His bed still under the skylight, dripping with moonlight spilled over Ryan's unmade sheets. "Well, lucky you."

"Am I the first boy you've had up here?" Brendon asked. Ryan tried to detect the typical coy and suggestive tone men had when they asked their girlfriends or one-night stands in movies, but Brendon sounded curious. He sounded nervous about the precedent he was setting.

"Actually yes." Ryan hummed, shutting the door and sitting them both down on the bed. In the moonlight, Brendon's freckles were like tiny reflectors, shining and glimmering and dragging Ryan closer with every short breath. "Never had someone worth the trouble." Ryan didn't want Pete's name to slide through the same lips he was about to press against Brendon's. Ryan's hands found Brendon's shirt as they collided, trying to pull him closer. Before Ryan could even reach for the hem of Brendon's shirt, Brendon was pulling it up and over his head. His collarbone and sharp ribcage casting shadows over his body in the light. Every bit of snark Ryan had drumming up to fire out next disappeared as he looked at Brendon.

"I didn't want you to feel nervous." He admitted, hands sliding down Ryan's body and tugging on his shirt hem. He wasn't going through the motions to see something gruesome on the back of his newest fuck; Brendon was trying to create a protected space in a house of bad memories and ghosts.

"I'm not sure about this..." Ryan admitted, Brendon's hands resting on his knees. "I don't really know what to expect... I've never taken my shirt off in front of someone before." Every time Pete tried to pull it up and over Ryan's face, blinding him for just a moment, Ryan yelped, squirming back into his shirt. He would hold it down, fighting the upward thrusts against the mattress that would try and coax it up his back.

"You don't have to... But, I'm not going to judge you... Or say anything, if you don't want. I can just—"

"You're talking too much." Ryan laughed, glad it wasn't him for once. "Half naked men don't talk this much."

"Says who." Brendon asked, eyebrows furrowed. Brendon knew who. "He isn't here to tell you what to do—or how you look. It's just us." They were finally and completely alone in Ryan's room, door locked to keep out the lingering ghosts and echoing words of his father's escape. Ryan's bolted window was letting in the only light, strips of moonlight falling over them and blanketing their shy blushes and smiles better than self-control ever could. They could be alone together. Ryan could finally get to be beautiful too.

"Close your eyes." Ryan said, his fingers spinning around the hem of his shirt. "Just for a second."

"Sure." Brendon gently removed his glasses and placed them on the bed in front of Ryan before closing his eyes. "Can't see a thing."

Ryan waved a hand in front of Brendon's face, testing his honesty. Brendon kept still, innocently chewing the inside of his cheek as he waited. He was telling the truth. For once, Ryan was being coaxed into bed with honesty, with kindness, with patience. Part of Ryan still wanted to be skeptical; there was still something wrong with Ryan, there had to be. Pete couldn't have been that delusional or manipulative on his own. There had to be some shred of truth to Pete's disgust and resentment to Ryan's affection. If there was, Brendon was pretending not to see it, eyes closed and all.

Ryan gripped the bottom of his shirt with both fists, lifting it halfway to his ribcage. His torso was less skeletal than he remembered. It had lively redness, it had a few freckles, it was curved outward, it was healthy. It was beautiful. He couldn't remember a time he ever remembered the slip of his shirt to ever be as powerful with Pete. Maybe it was the isolation, or the moonlight, or even the safety, but Ryan couldn't help but grin at the flush he felt run up his face; Brendon was going to think he was beautiful too.

Hopefully.

Brendon wasn't going to just look at his torso, he was going to be the first pair of eyes to fall on Ryan's scar. He would see it before Ryan ever did. Brendon would be the first person without plastic gloves to touch it, first unmasked mouth to gasp at its rough edges and silent confessions. Ryan had been hiding his past for so long, he nearly forgot it actually happened to him; it all felt like a fantasy, like something he made up to shut himself down. But the scar was real, it could sting just as it did even without glass, and it could tell the same truth. His mother had still died and left Ryan with all his secrets strewn over her grave with every fist of dirt. His father was still gone because he didn't want anything to do with Ryan's life, or how it ended. All of that was still real, all of it still lived under Ryan's skin. He would have to let it out sooner or later.

"Okay. You can look now." Ryan said, tugging his shirt over his chin. He let it fall from his fingers over the side of the bed, resting over Brendon's shirt. "Here." Ryan placed Brendon's glasses into his resting hands.

"Oh, thank you." Brendon laughed, squinting at Ryan's nervous smile before sliding his glasses back over his ears, pushing them up on his nose. As his hands lowered, his eyes drifted around Ryan's body—his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, his neck. "I don't see one thing to be ashamed of."

"I'm facing the wrong way." Ryan muttered, hands sliding over the sheets as he braced his arms to turn himself. "It's on my back."

"I still stand by what I said." Brendon said, folding his hands in his lap. "But, I can always say it again when you turn."

"Don't lie... I've never looked at it. I—I've never wanted to." Ryan warned Brendon, slowly twisting himself around and facing the foot of his bed.

Once completely turned around, Ryan closed his eyes, as if it would blind Brendon as well. He could only imagine what dark, healed bumps were carved along his back just between his shoulders. It was probably horrifying to look at, something as traumatic and truthful as a glass-cut back being the only thing staring back at Brendon. Ryan tried to stay perfectly still, trying not to flex his shoulders and draw any more attention to the warning sign branded across his back.

"Ryan... What are you talking about?" Brendon asked.

"Don't lie. I know you can see it." Ryan grumbled. He didn't appreciate false hope when he was already at his most vulnerable.

"No, I mean, I can... but it's barely noticeable. It's just this white lightning looking thing on your back... It's not that bad, Ryan. Really. It's not." Brendon soothed, his hand reaching out to trace the rough edges and thick scar tissue. Ryan arched his back afraid of the touch, but not ready to pull away from it.

"I don't trust you." Ryan said quickly, shaking his head. "I can feel it. It's  _hid_ _eous_."

"I'll take a picture." Brendon offered, his hand sliding away. "I'll show it to you." Ryan could hear his fingers tapping against his phone screen behind him.

"Wait, I don't know... I don't think I'm ready—" Ryan turned back around and was greeted by Brendon's phone screen, showing his pale hunched back. Ryan couldn't see the purpled, dark scar. He couldn't find the disgust etched in his skin. He saw white. Thick, white lines tracing an invisible river down and across his shoulder blades. "That's it?"

"That's it, Ryan." Brendon laughed, holding his phone out closer.

"That's it." Ryan took his phone and held it close to his face, the bright screen stinging his open eyes. There it was. His scar. His tormenter, finally in front of his eyes. The glass was gone and all that remained were a few scars strung along his shoulders. It was minute. It wasn't hideous. Ryan was beautiful.  "That's it." Ryan tried to blink away the pain from the screen exposure, but found his eyes still watering even as he looked away. The tears were uncontrollable, puddling in his eyes and pouring down his cheeks.

"You really needed to hear that, huh?" Brendon said with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If you hadn't told me, I probably wouldn't have noticed."

"You wouldn't have noticed." Ryan echoed. "You wouldn't have asked."

"No. Why would I do that?" Brendon asked, reaching out and touching Ryan's leg. "Why would I ask about that? It's none of my business. I mean... I asked because I thought it was from the crash... But I would never press the topic. I mean, my hands might be on it, but it's still your body." Still Ryan's body. Hands could graze it, grab it, bruise it, tear it, make it bled, and it still wouldn't change ownership. It was still his body and his home, no matter where he went. Ryan was the home he didn't know he had; it was always there for him. Now, Ryan had to find somewhere that would keep his home safe.

"Thank you." Ryan breathed, pulling Brendon on top of him as he fell back. His head nearly missed the wall as he leaned back into the pillows.

"I—I didn't do anything." Brendon laughed, hands quickly moving out to brace his weight on either side of Ryan. "At least, I don't think I did." He looked down between their bodies, nervous laughter punctuating his sentence.

"No. I just mean, thank you for coming over." Ryan said, kissing Brendon before he could even look back up at him. Their lips fit awkwardly together in the split second before Brendon physically relaxed against Ryan. His bare torso pressed against Ryan's in a hot flash of swirling, tightening surprise. Ryan could practically feel the heat pooling in Brendon's stomach, feel the white pinpoints of heat building together and making Brendon's arms tremble beside Ryan's head.

"Oh shit." Brendon panted, resting his head against Ryan's forehead to break the consuming tether pulling Brendon closer. "Oh shit." Ryan could feel him growing hard in his already tight uniform pants. The discomfort flashed across Brendon's face as he bit his lip, eyes clenched closed and features flushed in an unbelievable sight that stilled Ryan's breathing.

"Shhh. Relax." Ryan cooed, reaching for Brendon's belt. His one hand worked the buckle as his other rubbed against his cock straining against his khakis.

"Oh,  _God_." Brendon was choking on his own words, lip nearly bleeding and voice breaking as he reached for Ryan's hand. "Wait."

"Already?" Ryan wasn't going to judge; he was sure Brendon had only been in hurried, cluttered corners and closets during pre-mission camps or Sunday morning prayers where he only had a few minutes to get off. Whatever worked in the past was perfectly fine working now. "I'll applaud you for efficiency."

"No, wait." Brendon said again, pulling Ryan's hand away from his belt. "Please stop."

"Okay." Ryan let his hands wrap around Brendon's waist instead, tracing the hem of his pants. Brendon was still clinging to his lip and composure like he was about to tremble to pieces. His jaw clenched against his usually round and soft cheeks, his freckles disappearing in his heavy flush. "Oh God... You... You've never done this before... Have you?"

"Nothing like this." Brendon sighed, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry. Just— _Fuck._ I thought I knew what I was doing... And then you just..."

"I'm sorry. I thought... You had done this before. I didn't know you were... Oh god, I'm sorry." Ryan held Brendon by his shoulders and eased him back to sit on his knees. Brendon covered his face, shoulders shaking as Ryan took a long deep breath and tried to cross his legs comfortably. "Brendon?"

"I am so sorry." Brendon was laughing, full on hysterically laughing at himself, his fingers sliding over his face with embarrassment. "I thought I knew what I was up against... I just. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I just wish you had told me." Ryan confessed, hating to advance on Brendon when he knew how quickly shock could warp into fear.

"Well, yeah. I am a good ol' eighteen-year-old Mormon virgin." Brendon muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've made out with a few guys before, I mean, gay Mormons aren’t  _that_  rare, but never such.... intense hand stuff."

"I'm so sorry." Ryan said again.

Brendon looked at him, suppressing a smile. "I'm not."

"Unbelievable." Ryan laughed, leaning over his bed to grab both of their shirts. He threw Brendon's at his face, hoping to break the growing shine in Brendon's innocent eyes. "Put your clothes back on. You must'nt be indecent."

"I'm always indecent when you're here." Brendon said, pulling his shirt over his head. "Why do you think since you've been at the hospital Dallon's been trying to fire me? My entire religious promise goes out the window."

" _I_  do that?" Ryan said coyly, still in disbelief. "But what about your promise to God to remain pure until marriage."

"Would you shut up!" Brendon giggled, pushing Ryan's shoulder. It barely moved Ryan, but if his ribs still hadn't been sore, Ryan was sure he'd be on the floor. "I told you, I make that shit up so I don't go to a different country for a year. I do it so I can be around to chase boys like you."

"There's more than one?" Ryan asked, standing from the bed.

"No. So far you are the first of your kind. I'd be fucked otherwise." Brendon said. Ryan snorted out a laugh. "I  _mean_ , I'd be in trouble-- would you stop that?" Brendon stood and grabbed at Ryan's waist, pulling him into his body.

"Oh no! God, help! He's gotten me! The impurity!" Ryan laughed, playfully pushing against Brendon's chest but getting nowhere.

"You are so fucking lucky you are beautiful." Brendon pretended to grit, letting Ryan get away dramatically. "I'll be back, Ross."

"Oh no." Ryan said deadpan, covering his mouth. "That's terrible."

"Shut up." Brendon collected his phone from the floor and brushed off his shirt, fully shifting his demeanor to match his volunteer uniform. "Stop by again tomorrow?" Brendon asked.

"Actually, maybe a change of a location." Ryan muttered, watching Brendon scroll through the collected messages on his phone and thinking of his own and the messages from William probably piling up.

"Oh?" Brendon raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing like that. I'll text you though." Ryan promised, opening the door and walking Brendon to the stairs. "Maybe we'll have dinner. A real date—maybe a... double date?"

"A real one?" Brendon sounded pleased, a grin spreading across his face.

"Would that... make you feel better? More comfortable?" Ryan asked, toeing the subject with as much disguise as he could. He remembered how Ryan had wished Pete had made him feel wanted and appreciated in ways that went beyond his body and what Pete wanted in a moment. Ryan knew that comfort was a luxury, but didn't want to seem like he was using it as a catalyst or a coercive tactic.

"I'd love that." Brendon nodded. "That sounds great. Text me whenever you're ready."

"I will. Definitely." Ryan stood at the landing of the stairs and watched Brendon collect his things still sprawled across the empty living room floor. He kicked up his skateboard before tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

"See you soon, Ryan." He waved delicately, only his fingers moving shortly. He stopped in the doorway, the clear night sky backlighting him as he winked at Ryan. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." Ryan lifted his own hand to wave, the door shutting before Ryan was truly ready to stop looking at Brendon. His house had never felt so empty without him already. Good thing he didn't plan on staying much longer. Brendon reminded him just how much a maintained charade could harm him; he didn't have to be mad forever.

Ryan walked over to his phone in the middle of the floor, keeping his spot in the unmeasured emptiness. Ryan thought of calling his mother, hearing her silence wrap around him one more time, but it wasn't really her. Ryan was all alone, but it was finally time to liven his house up. He dialed Gabe's number shortly, heading for the stairs as it rang.

"Hey, Ryan! What's happening, man?" Gabe sounded overly pleased. WIlliam obviously scared him to the point Ryan calling was joyous confirmation he wasn't dead on the floor. "Tall String Bean told me you were in kind of a bad shape earlier."

"Yeah." Ryan laughed. "But I'm okay now." Ryan went back into his room, crouching to reach under his bed with his free hand. He grabbed the duffle bag folded up in the very back corner, pressed against the wall. Dust came off on Ryan's fingers. Seven years really was a long time to leave it there, wasn't it?

"So, what's going on? What do you need?" Gabe asked.

"I was curious..." Ryan said, taking his last restricted breath. "If you had room for one more over there."

"What? Like, in my house?" Gabe clarified. "Uh, yeah. Will's not in the guestroom—obviously—so, yeah. We technically have room for one more. Why?"

"I need somewhere to stay."

"Did something happen?" Gabe's joy was lost in a moment.

"Just some stuff with my dad. It's a long story, but I want to stay somewhere else." Ryan admitted. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, yeah totally. I can be there in a few minutes. Let me just get my keys and stuff and I'll be there in a second. Do you need Will?" Before Ryan could even think to ask for someone who already knew half of his struggle through their own eyes, Gabe offered, thinking only of Ryan.

"Actually, no. It's okay. I'd rather just talk to you about a few things." Ryan said, grabbing the clothes in his drawers and stuffing it into the bag. There was still an old journal forced upon him when his mother first left by a group of school therapists sitting at the bottom of the bag. Ryan ignored it and covered it with his shirts, some clean, most not. He'd bring it with him, and maybe this time, actually using it for its intended purpose of processing his mother's death.

"Okay, yeah. I'll be there, okay? Just a few minutes. Can you wait that long? Is it urgent?" Gabe asked.

"No, I'll be fine. Take your time and don't drive like an asshole." Ryan said, waiting for Gabe's knowing chuckle to answer his advisement. "See ya."

Ryan tucked his phone into his pocket to free both arms for moving. He hoisted an entire armful of clothes from the bottom drawers of his dresser and crammed it into his bag. As he pushed and wrinkled his clothes with enough force to make room for more things, Ryan turned to begin scanning his room for keepsakes he couldn't part with. His room was empty. There wasn't anything he wanted to take with him—there  _was_  nothing to take. No posters, no décor, no lust-after band knick-knacks on his dresser. Ryan had made his room a hotel for eighteen years without even meaning to. Everything fit into one bag, slung over his sore aching back and following him down the stairs.

"Okay, here it goes." Ryan said out loud, prepared to leave the house one final time, waiting for Gabe on the front porch. "Goodbye..." Ryan wasn't sure who he was leaving. His mother no longer lived or breathed in that house; that memory had been suffocated many years ago, only heaving the life that Ryan breathed into it. His father wasn't a memory Ryan was sad to part with, seeing as how he had already said his goodbyes with the house and his son. What was left? Not Ryan's childhood, most of those days were spent with Spencer in his house—and still were, and would be once band practice was over and he could hear all the ridiculous shit happening to him. Not Ryan himself, he was the only true thing he knew he was going to take with him when he left. What could he even miss about his house? What did it offer Ryan to deserve a proper goodbye? "Fuck you, House. Fuck you."


	15. Last Man Standing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Slight warning that this is the chapter that has mentions of sexual assault. It's earlier in the chapter and isn't graphic, but I wanted to extend the warning.  
> Enjoy chapter fifteen (how did we get this far?) and be sure to find me on tumblr (@breakfastbeebo). I love chatting with you guys! xoxo

Gabe got out of his car in pajamas wearing lilac running sneakers. They  _had_  to be William's. He rushed up to Ryan resting on his front steps, frantic and out of breath.

"I got here as fast as I could."

"I told you I was fine." Ryan said, pushing himself to his feet. "Still only have one place with stitches. Nothing else happened."

"Okay... Still, I just. I had to see with my own eyes. I'm happy you're okay." Gabe sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm happy you're moving in with me."

"Yeah, me too. Don't know how much longer I was going to last there. Power bill is going to be due any day now." Ryan shrugged, knowing the truth was just as good as told now that Ryan didn't have any reason to protect the house, nothing to hold on to.

"Fuck. Your dad that behind in the bills?" Gabe said, taking a bag from Ryan. "Jesus."

"No, Dad's not there." Ryan laughed. "Left a bit ago and I haven't seen him since. Just,  _gone_." Ryan shrugged, rolling his eyes.

"Oh. Shit." Gabe said, walking Ryan across the lawn. "That's awful."

"It's fine." Ryan said, being honest. He opened the passenger car door and slid in carefully, waiting for Gabe to be inside as well before speaking. "We were never that close anyway. After my mom... left, it's been pretty tense between us." Ryan still wasn't ready to be open about his mother. He wanted her coffin to stay sealed, it contained his secrets just as much as it held her memory. He'd have to hold that in a bit longer, but that was a decision only he had to make. Gabe on the other hand, had been trying to uncover something for a while, and Ryan refused to be open enough to listen. He had time to make things right, even if it was only a few minutes between Ryan's house to Gabe's. "Hey, Gabe?"

"What?"

"Remember that thing you were trying to tell me... When Pete was drunk..." Ryan didn't know what to label it. He didn't know how Gabe labeled it in his own mind, what caution tape circled the memory, trying to choke it out.

"I remember." Gabe said, taking the steering wheel with caution. "Why."

"I'm sorry for not listening." Ryan said. "I can tell it's still bothering you... Even Will said something about not wanting to leave you—"

"Ryan, you don't have to do this. I know this isn't what you want to hear." Gabe said, shaking his head. "I know that."

"No... I want to listen. If you are willing to let me live with you, I should be willing to listen to you. Make up for my fucking mistakes."

"Ryan, you don't have to repent." Gabe said, putting the car in drive. "I'm not like, secretly mad you were, obviously, dealing with your own shit. I get it. Besides, it happened so long ago."

"That doesn't mean it goes away." Ryan cut in. His mother had been dead for over five years and Ryan always felt like he was on the drive back from the funeral. "You don't have to talk about it, but... I just thought I'd offer the ear. While William isn't around."

"Ryan, it's fine. I was dumb and fifteen. It's not that big of a deal. Really. Just some dicks were moving off of my street but wanted to tease the new kid anyway. Not a big deal. I mean, Will hadn't moved yet, so I didn't have any friends at the time. It's my own fault really." As Gabe tried to deny Ryan the severity, his guilt began to spread over his lies, the blame apparent in his false laughter. Ryan could hear himself in Gabe's words, denying Pete's behavior with a smile and a nod, the assurance that it was really Ryan's doing that got him roughed up behind a gas station, scared by another haze of alcohol-fumed curses. "There was this kid that was moving, and he was fine, I guess, I mean, he kept calling me the 'Mexican Kid', even though, I'm very clearly not from Mexico." Gabe tapped the Uruguay flag sticker on the dashboard of his car, corners peeling and white stripes yellowing.

"So the guy was bad at geography." Ryan nodded, knowing that small talk and diversion was a key device used to try and soften the blow of whatever news Gabe was reliving. Ryan always used to lead with how Pete was a really good pick-up artist, how it was actually pretty incredible; he had a way with words if he ever wanted to write anything constructive and productive to society. "I can picture him well."

"He wasn't the problem." Gabe corrected, twisting his hands around the steering wheel. They passed the gas station and Gabe staggered for his sentence. "It was his older sister." Already, Ryan didn't like how the story was progressing. "She was only a few years older than me, but back then, I thought she was twenty-five for fucks sake. She was this  _tall_ ,  _strong_ , and  _charming_  red-head. I—I don't actually remember her name."

"T—That's okay." Ryan said. "She doesn't have to have one."

"William would remember. He'd remember her name." Gabe said off-handedly. "They never met, but he'd remember."

"Does that bother you?" Ryan couldn't read Gabe's tone.

"No." Gabe said, shaking his head. "No, he just remembers things better than me. He remembers a lot of stuff from then. I forget a lot." Ryan wanted to assure Gabe it wasn't his memory failing him, but rather his brain trying to protect him. "But, I was in backyard, helping my mom plant a fig tree that was  _totally_  going to die in our backyard. Mama doesn't have a very green thumb and I was a stupid teenager." Gabe laughed. "My mom went inside to answer the phone or something, maybe the bank or—I don't know, someone— and she was inside for a long time. Or maybe not that long, I can't remember.

"But I was by the fig tree, trying to pat down the dirt, make it look not as horrifically ugly as I had made it, and she came up by the fence. It wasn't that tall at all, just enough to divide the side properties. She jumped it in a minute, coming right up to me and asking me all these questions—and of course, being a fucking fifteen-year-old I was stuttering and drooling and just being a basic horn dog towards this girl. I mean, my boyfriend was still in another state. I was all alone. I typically didn't have to face that kind of attention, that kind of attraction on my own."

Ryan thought back to the Halloween store; Gabe's skin was crawling and his eyes were searching for somewhere other than the cashier, his aggravation with Ryan as he scoffed away his discomfort at the attention. Gabe wasn't in that store alone, but Ryan's cluelessness made Gabe feel that way.

"Then she was touching my arms and stuff, kind of just innocent, but I of course told her about Bill. She didn't believe me though, I remember. Like, I obviously found her attractive but I had a boyfriend so  _one_ of those statements had to be wrong. She said I couldn't be 'that way', that those people were just sluts. And part of me believed her I guess."

"Gabe—"

"Then when she started to grab me, I just—my brain turned off. I froze. I didn't know what else I could have said to get her off of me." Gabe sighed, easing the car to a stop at a stop sign. There was no traffic, but Gabe stayed longer than needed. "I remember crying. It was weird. It was the first time someone had ever done that. I mean, William and I weren't  _there_ yet, we were  _kids_ , but she had her hand... just... I cried the whole time. And then, she heard my mom talking inside, by the window, and just disappeared. She jumped the fence and ran off. She moved away the following week and that was that."

"No one saw her?" Ryan asked.

"No one. Only people who know are the two of us, her, and Will." Gabe finally drove passed the stop sign and continued to his street. He had been carrying the secret alone for far too long; Ryan knew how heavy the weight could get after just a few days. What Ryan didn't know though, was how it felt to finally let the weight slip off and be left behind with something as common as a stop sign. "She left I just went back to planting that fig tree for my mom."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Ryan hated the question, but he had to ask anyway.

"I tried." Gabe said, looking at Ryan with a shrug.

"Shit. Right. Sorry."

"Eh, it's all past shit, alright? I'm over it. I got through it. I'm getting through it—and you will too, Ry. Whatever it is that you and your dad are going through will resolve itself." Gabe said, mustering up a smile. "And sometimes that means cutting him out of your life though. And I fully support that, because that means you're going to be here with us."

"It's sounds like you're adopting me." Ryan laughed, looking at Gabe's house as they pulled up to it. It was one story, a basic square cottage, covered in yellow paneling. The only lights on inside the house were the ones guiding them to the porch and the ones in the foyer.

"I prefer borrowing." Gabe said, parking the car.

"From?"

"Your shitty family. I'm borrowing Will too." Gabe answered. "Now come on, William is worried sick about you."

"You know, Will takes that phrase a little  _too_  literally." Ryan noted, getting out of the car. "Worried sick is just supposed to be an expression, not something that explains him vomiting on a highway."

"I think that's the perfect greeting." Gabe said with a laugh, pulling Ryan's bag from the backseat and throwing it over his shoulder. "Tell him that."

Before they could reach the front porch, the curtains of the foyer separated, William's face poking between the blue fabric. Gabe grinned and waved back to William's concerned spying. As Gabe's arm lowered back down to his side, the front door swung open.

"There you are!" William ran out and into Ryan. "Are you okay? Is everything okay? What happened?" William held Ryan's face and pushed his hair back, eyeing his stitches nervously.

"I'm okay, Will." Ryan said, trying to shoulder him away.

"But It's so late! What happened that made you wait so long? Something happened." William insisted. Ryan had never been the receiving end of William's anxiety before. Gabe stood beside them chuckling quietly.

"Nothing. Brendon came over." Ryan said without thinking, wanting William to stop grabbing his face like he was going to fall over. "We hung out. It's fine."

"Is that where the hickey came from?" Gabe asked.

"What?" Ryan gasped and slapped his hand over his neck. He didn't remember Brendon kissing his neck that much. Ryan couldn't imagine that entire serious conversation with Gabe happening while he had a purple mass growing on his throat.

"Kidding. But glad to know the truth." Gabe giggled. He grabbed William's hands and pulled them from Ryan's face. "He's fine, babe. Get inside. You don't have shoes on." Gabe herded them back inside, still laughing and clapping Ryan on the back. "Nice."

"Don't." Ryan grumbled. "I don't need the commentary. Nothing happened."

"Don't have to defend yourself." Gabe shrugged, holding his hands up. "I'm just saying. It's nice he came to see you. It's a nice friendship you have there."

"Gabe. Don't." William said, laughing and batting his arm as Gabe walked past him into the house.

The last time Ryan was in Gabe's house, it was during a celebratory hang out honoring the end of the school year that became a catastrophic mess when Gabe got the official news he'd have to repeat his senior year. They had originally been circled around Gabe's dining table, playing a failed game of poker—Patrick knew how to count cards and was being pestered by Pete to be taught how to do it too. Patrick was in the middle of insisting he wasn't actually using his abilities to win the game when Gabe's mother came into the kitchen, paper in his hand and phone pressed against her shoulder and ear. She waved Gabe back into the living room, a serious look over her face. Ryan only remembered the severity a year later. At the time, there was a hand resting on his thigh under the table, Pete trying to seduce him to show him his cards. Ryan never paid attention to the parts of his memory that sat in his peripherals, but he was more than certain of William's nervous card shuffling, trying to look busy while his ears strained against their conversation; Spencer was sitting beside William, asking him about his choker for the fourth time that day—he didn't believe it was comfortable to wear, and neither did anyone else; and Patrick was eyeing everyone over his cards, obviously better at poker than anyone imagined and hustling the entire table.

Pete was in the middle of running his hand up to Ryan's pant buttons as William began removing his choker for Spencer's own curiosity. Gabe walked back into the room as if someone else was pushing him forward. The brightly painted walls that seemed to dim behind Gabe as he revealed the bad news were still there, vibrancy back and present. Gabe's dining table was still set for eight people despite only ever having two people living in his house, although now it had four. The cards were gone, but Ryan could still feel the energy, the static second everyone froze and decided they didn’t know what to say to calm Gabe, except for William. It was Ryan's last memory of the house, but hopefully Gabe had better ones to layer over it, like a blanket from the cold.

"Mama's already asleep, so tread quietly. She's got an early shift." Gabe said, motioning them to the left of the door to a long hallway.

"Got it." Ryan had the ability to walk across nearly any flooring and not making any sound. Granted, the skill was sharpened with drunk ears, but he was sure he could pass a sober test as well.

Gabe led Ryan to the end of the hallway, two doors facing him and a third to his left. The door was in an alcove of the hallway, facing the other doors head on. The door across from the alcove was open, a cluttered twin bed unmade and with clothes strewn over it and the floor beside it. There were poorly collaged photos pasted above the headboard, mostly of the same two people—William and Gabe—but other times there were more faces amongst the pair. The room beside Gabe's room had the door closed over and no light shining underneath the frame; his mother's room. That left Ryan to upgrade from a closet in his upstairs to an alcove across from his two best friends.

"It's a little small, but we can figure something else if it's not enough." Gabe said, pushing the door open.

Ryan braced himself for his old room, following him in the bag slung over Gabe's back. The room before him was twice the size of his old bedroom, the bed stretching along the edge of the house's largest window. From the outside it consumed only a short length of the house's front, facing the street, but now it was all Ryan's. It wasn't locked, keeping him from the outside word and the moonlight from his sheets and skin. Now he could lie in the starlight like a free child, no dangers provided by a window on his roof. He could lie in the moonlight; he could let Brendon bathe in it. There was a dresser in the corner across from the door, mirror reflecting the three of them crowding in the doorway, Ryan's open mouth more obvious to William and Gabe from a second angle.

"It's fine." Ryan said. "It's perfect, don't worry. Thank you."

"Okay. My room's right across the way, so if you need anything or...  _whatever_ , you can always bother us." Gabe smiled and wrapped an arm around Ryan's shoulders. "I stared sleeping with pants on again."

"Fuck you." Ryan laughed, elbowing him in the side. "I should be good."

"Okay." William leaned into Gabe's other side, the three of them cozied in the frame of the door and the mirror. "Well I'm having some tea in the kitchen if you want some, Ryan."

"Uh, I don't know. I should probably just get to sleep."

"It's just chamomile. It'll help you relax." William urged, nodding him out of the room. "Come on."

"I guess it couldn't hurt." Ryan agreed. He stepped away from his room and faced away from the mirror to look at the Gabe actual standing beside him. "Thank you again. A thousand times."

"Don't mention it." Gabe grinned, clapping Ryan across the back. Ryan's shoulders rolled back, scar flexing across his skin, but not at all pinching under his shirt. "Now go get some tea. My mom has some really good shit, man."

"Wait, it is _just_ tea, right?" Ryan joked. "I don't know if I should be on the same shit as William. I am not  _that_  wound up."

"It's just tea." William promised, walking back down the hall to the kitchen. Gabe walked into his room, stepping over William's backpack and a stack of school books before reaching his bed. He collapsed onto it with a notable weight, sighing as both arms went over his eyes. William already had his back to them and walked away without seeing anything. "C'mon, Ryan. It'll calm you down before bed."

"I see you're already becoming a dad." Ryan said. "Do I get a bedtime story too?"

"Only if you're good." William laughed, reaching up into a cabinet to grab another mug for Ryan. "Do you put anything in your tea?"

"No. No, plain is fine." Ryan said, stepping up to William's side. He poured the boiling water into the mugs, placing a tea bag in each carefully.

"I also take my tea straight." William laughed obnoxiously, nudging Ryan's elbow with a wide grin. "Get it?"

"I—No." Ryan said, staring at him. William let his eyebrows rise, silently forcing his sentence to echo in Ryan's mind. "Straight? Is that the joke? Right, because... Gay. Right." Ryan wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to such a joke. Did he laugh, show that he too got the irony of his own tea order? Or did he act confused, like he didn't understand the concept of "straight" to mean anything else than the context of his drink.

"Wow. Tough crowd tonight." William muttered. "You  _can_ laugh when I tell a gay joke, Ry." William blew on his tea before taking a sip.

"Why?" Ryan asked, holding his mug tightly. "Why can I?" He knew William saw him and Brendon kiss at the hospital—or rather, covered his eyes to let them—he knew what Ryan was hiding, what he had been for years.

"Because..." William said slowly. "I'm funny. And you are also gay."

"I never said that." Ryan said quickly. William quirked an eyebrow over his fogged glasses. "But... I mean, I'm saying it now, I guess."

"Which means that you don't have to act differently around me. Be you, and laugh at my jokes, dammit." William smiled and pushed Ryan's shoulder gently. "Got it?"

"Yeah." Ryan nodded. "Got it."

"Good night, Ryan." William squeezed Ryan's shoulder before turning and shuffling back out of the kitchen. Before he left, he pointed at the light switch under the cabinets. He was already being trusted to lock up the house on his own. Already, he lived there. He had a full cup of tea in his hands, standing in a kitchen fully stocked with food and without a single cracked tile or broken bottle. He was standing in a foreign kitchen being asked to be himself and accept what he had been denying for years.

Ryan laughed at William's joke softly as he stepped up to the sink, staring out the window above it. His tea was still far too hot to drink, but he let the steam coil under his chin, warming his face. The kitchen window looked directly over the Saporta backyard. There were short, flowering bushes and what looked like pumpkins trying to sprout from the ground, late for their Halloween deadline. In the center of the yard, along the waist-level fence was a tall tree, breaking the pattern of stout plants around it. It stood tall and healthy, leaves cascading in levels outward over the circle of mulch around it, and roots strong and anchored into the dirt. It was the fig tree.

It had survived. It survived the harsh, dry summers and survived in Gabe's backyard. He had been so certain it would die there, wilt and shrivel up before the first budding harvest. Maybe it wasn't the tree Gabe had really been concerned with.

Ryan took his mug with him as he walked back to the guest room, flipping off the lights on his way out of the kitchen. He walked down the hallway carefully, staying close to the wall to avoid creaking any floorboards and waking any parents in the house. His father always snapped at the way the floor creaked, long and whining throughout the house. He wouldn't make the same mistake at Gabe's house. He'd flit around as if he were a ghost; no one would see him, but they'd know something was there. Just before going into his room, he stopped outside of Gabe's room, pushing the door open carefully, waiting for the hinge to squeak.

"Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow... For school." Ryan could already feel the pitiful looks following him down the hallways, but William was coming back to school soon as well; they could share.

"No problem, Ryan." Gabe said, eyes already closed and head resting on William's chest. He lifted a weak hand to wave towards the door.

"Get some well-deserved sleep, Ryan." William whispered, lifting the fingers of his hand resting on Gabe's head to wave at Ryan. "I'm happy you're here."

"Me too." Ryan had found refuge for his body, his mobile home. Somewhere to sleep without bolted windows, without the whistling of ghosts through the uneven floorboards. Somewhere to finally rest.

Ryan climbed into bed with the mug cupped in his hands, cradling the warmth. He pulled the covers over his legs and leaned against the headboard. He left the door wide open.

* * *

The morning snuck up on Ryan. He didn't remember going to sleep. His usual routine was erased; he didn't have to focus on his breathing to calm down, or wait for exhaustion to appear and force his eyes to close. He melted into the pillows after his cup of tea, the silence of the house settling rather than disquieting. Ryan pushed his blankets back as he stretched in bed, the warm sunlight spilling over his legs. He could hear other signs of life in the house, bare feet peeling away from the wood floor, quiet voices whispering and humming in the morning haze. The soothing silence was interrupted by a harsh  _crack_  down the hall, William gasping before telling Gabe to  _STOP_ _._

Ryan was vertical before he even checked to see if Gabe was responding. He slammed himself into the doorframe, trying to get to the kitchen as quickly as possible. The crash could have been a bowl, a plate, a bottle—

"What happened?" Ryan panted, appearing in the kitchen archway already in a sweat. As he went to stagger into the kitchen, Ryan's bare foot touched something wet, his foot sliding forward. He jumped back, even more startled to find yolk dripping from his toes.

"Nothing." Gabe said, leaning against the counter, bowl of cereal in hand. "We're okay." He noted Ryan's panic, but thankfully said nothing.

"Gabe just made me drop what was left of the carton of eggs." William sighed, rolling his eyes. "I keep  _telling_  him to keep his hands to himself when I have breakable things in my hands."

"Not entirely sorry." Gabe said, his mouth full. "He started it."

"I'm sure he did." Ryan said, crouching down to help William clean up the cracked eggshells.

"You'd be surprised." Gabe muttered. "I think us living together is a pretty bad idea, Bill." He teased, poking him on the back with his foot. "You can't control yourself."

William sighed. "He mistook me reaching into the cabinet for my medication as coming onto him."

"Oh." Ryan said, still trying to catch his breath. He was so sure he was back home. In that flashing moment, he was so sure he was nine years old, hearing his mother throw dishes to try and tell her husband to back away from her. Ryan was so sure. "Natural mix up, I guess."

"See? I'm not the only one." Gabe said, placing his bowl down on the counter. He grabbed paper towels and knelt to help William, and reprieve Ryan from his stare at the running yolk. "I've got it, baby. Go get ready for your day. I can do this. I made the mess."

"Where are you off to?" Ryan asked, taking the shells from William and searching for the kitchen trashcan. He stood half-confidently by the sink, trying to elbow the cabinet open. "You can't go to school yet."

"Have like, three hours of doctor's appointments." William sighed. He pointed Ryan over to the corner of the kitchen, where an obvious stainless-steel trashcan hid beside the counter. "All my consistent appointments overlapped today. I have my psychiatrist  _and_ therapist today."

"Oh. That sucks." Ryan muttered, rinsing his hands off. "Good luck."

"I'm sure it will be fine." William shrugged, beginning to pull his hair back. "Thanks though, Ryan. Nice bedhead." He poked Ryan's own messy curls as he walked by to return to his room.

In the kitchen, Ryan began to look around at the cabinets, wondering what it would be like to open them; he had a rumbling fear that if he opened it, everything would disappear to the same place his childhood food went to. Ryan didn't want to curse Gabe's house. There was enough happening there without him; the fig tree still remained planted just outside the kitchen window. Gabe had his back to Ryan, wiping up the egg on the floor, he'd be oblivious if Ryan just walked back to his room to get dressed for school. He could slip away and present himself ready without any questions and just slip out the door and go back to normalcy. He'd have assignments and homework again, he'd see Spencer again, he'd be able to ignore Pete in the stairwells and start fights in the hallway again, he could listen to Patrick pitch his thousand and one ideas for the Homecoming Dance. He'd get to do all of it with stitches stretching across his forehead and repelling all eyes attempting to pity him.

"I can be ready in like, ten minutes." Ryan said, already walking.

"Wait. You've barely been  _alive_  for like, ten minutes. Slow down, man. Eat something. Hospital food  _can't_  be that good." Gabe stood again with a handful of dripping paper towels. He nodded towards the cabinet, trying to get Ryan to open one for him. Ryan denied the offer with a nonchalant wave and shrug. "I'm not going to charge you for eating a fucking bowl of cereal."

"I'm fine." Ryan said, holding his hands up. "Really. I'm kind of nauseous this morning." It wasn't entirely false; the thought of being back at school was thrilling but also hopelessly terrifying. It would get Ryan back into his old life, but how much did he really want that?

"Alright. Fair enough." Gabe let Ryan go with little fight, going to the sink. He didn't look away from his hands. The window was right there but went avoided. "Be ready in thirty."

Ryan went back to his room, to his single bag, and dug through the wrinkled and folded shirts to the only one that seemed to be the least incriminating next to his stitches. It was a bit too much color for Ryan, the thin black and white stripes catching his attention shockingly every time he paced the room and passed the mirror. Maybe striking was an improvement—it'd help complete the illusion he wasn't really coming back to school as much as just simply continuing—no one would even notice he had gone.

Ryan followed the sound of running water back down the hall to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. William was standing at the sink, wet hands trying to fix the out of control curls by his ears. He shifted over to allow Ryan the room to use the sink. William was humming under the sound of the faucet running, looking at himself in the mirror and smiling at how his appearance was changing with his work. Ryan looked over at his own reflection, his hair hanging lower than it had been in previous months. He'd probably need a haircut, but William didn't seem to be the one who would know anyone. Ryan would probably cut it later by himself. He brought a hat if everything went wrong. As he settled on the thought, Ryan had the troubled notion that he was supposed to run his hair change by Brendon, attraction maybe hanging by a thin strand of hair.

"Hey Bill?" Ryan asked, toothpaste dripping down his chin.

"Yeah?" He asked, turning his head and checking the sides of his hair. It was nearly past his shoulders.

"Does Gabe like your hair long?" Ryan asked.

"I assume so." William laughed, looking at Ryan through the mirror. "I haven't heard any complaints."

"But I mean, what if you ever wanted to cut it?" Ryan continued, tooth brush back in his mouth to obscure his tone.

"I love Gabe and everything, but, I don't fucking care what he thinks." He said, shrugging. "It's my hair."

"Really? Just like that?" Ryan was shocked.

He had considered trimming his hair once before, in the middle of a summer heatwave. He was still sweat-slicked, sprawled across Pete's bed, delirious from exhaustion and dehydration. Ryan had reached for a pair of scissors, moments from trying to lessen the weight on his scalp and suffocating the back of his neck, but was met with harsh rejection. His hair was good to grip, good to pull on, was something to hold onto because he was mostly skeleton anyway. Before, Ryan thought of it as a redeeming quality to appearance, but then worried it was the only quality. Ryan focused on Brendon's freckles, his cupid's pink lips—although all of him was staggeringly beautiful—but what if Brendon only saw his hair as a thing worth noting. What if  _that_ was what was ugly about Ryan—everything was.

"It's just hair, Ryan." William laughed. "It's all dead shit hanging off your head anyway. Who cares?"

"I know a few people." Ryan mumbled, spitting into the sink. "Thanks though."

"Good luck on your first day back!" William clapped Ryan on the back. "I'm sure everything will be exactly as you left it."

"I'm sure it will be." Ryan agreed.

Ryan was wrong. So very wrong; it wasn't. Ryan couldn't believe that for a moment, as he walked back to his room and grabbed his backpack, he believed that he could go back to high school as if nothing had happened to him. He had changed; he had been outed, he had been abandoned by his father, and he had Brendon. Ryan was different, and beyond that, his locker was  _covered_  in pride stickers.

"What the fuck is this shit!" Ryan cried, grabbing a fistful of the flyers for PFLAG and Safe Space organizations from his lockers and tearing them down. Gabe had already gone to his own locker, blind to the obscenity on his locker.

"Oh my god, Ryan!" Ryan wished that car had killed him. He closed his eyes and asked God what had he ever done to deserve such hell. "Ryan, I heard what happened!" Vicky's cast could be heard clacking against the floor as she tried to run up to him.

"Hi, Vicky." Ryan ignored the short, smug shadow behind her, holding her books. "I'm fine. Please don't make a scene."

"Don't be so modest! Pete told me everything that happened—I can't believe you did that!" She cried, grabbing onto his arms. She was checking to see if he was real, but Ryan wasn't sure the scene around him was.

"What are you talking about?" Ryan asked, pulling out of her grasp.

"That homophobic driver! He was going to plow you and that boy down, but you sacrificed yourself to save him! That's so beautiful."

"What." Ryan tried to avoid looking at Pete, tried to avoid letting him see the regret flash across his eyes as he wished again, a little harder, he had died.

"Everyone is so in awe of you. You are so brave, Ryan." She threw her arms around Ryan and tucked her head into his neck, continue to blabber about her pride about  _his_  "pride". Ryan was left to stare at Pete, standing a foot away and grinning.

"What did you do?" Ryan hissed, careful to go unheard by the near-weeping girl in his arms.

"You and your boyfriend wanted to be gay heroes." Pete said with a smirk. "Welcome to your coronation, Miss Ross."

"You fucking—"

"Congratulations." Pete sneered, opening his arm up to take Vicky from Ryan. "See you around, babe."

Ryan returned a bleeding heart, out and proud, gay man. Ryan had never lived that profile one minute of his life and now it was the assumption to ever student and faculty member that passed him. Ryan was fucked. He was so terribly fucked. Fucked fucked fucked. Why didn't God make him roadkill? Why didn't God let him snap both legs, his spine, and an arm on the road. Why didn't he tell Brendon to leave Ryan behind? And  _why_  did He let someone under his thumb like Brendon be so damn attracted to Ryan, letting him twist Ryan's self-destructive behavior into considering someone other than himself. Why did God send someone to do his dirty work? Brendon saved his life and Ryan's repayment was nearly taking his virginity. What a fucking idiot. What a fucked fuck. Ryan was screw. He was as good as dead.

"Ryan? Oh my god! Ryan!" Ryan refused to turn towards Patrick, scrambling up to his side. "Ryan. Hi."

"Hi, Pat."

"I'm sorry." He said shortly. "I didn't know—I would have done something." The words were spilling out of him. "I had no control over this. I was too busy planning colors and streamers and freaking  _themes—_ "

"It's okay." Ryan said flatly, touching his shoulder. "There's nothing you could have done." He wasn't Pete's keeper. He couldn't ask Patrick to do what he had spent months doing. They were the same, although Patrick had managed to grow up in parallels with Pete without being pinned to him in any way. Pete showed him courtesy but left Patrick in the middle when lashing out on his friends.

"No. Ryan... I'm so... so  _fucking_  sorry." Patrick pulled Ryan in for the second hug of his first day back. "Fuck. It's already done and it's already been given to every faculty member... I thought I had more time—" He wasn't making sense anymore, but Ryan placed a hand on his back gently.

"Pat, please stop. You're fine. Don't blame yourself."

"Don't let it ruin your whole day though, alright? I'll be at lunch—we all will be. We'll be there for you."

"Okay..."

"I'm sure it will be sorted out soon, but for the initial impact, my hands are tied." Patrick went on, squeezing Ryan and making his ribs ache.

"Okay." Ryan wheezed, trying to push Patrick away from him. "I got it."

"I have to go," Patrick apologized, as if he wasn't always in a rush somewhere. "But remember, at lunch. I'll be there."

Ryan waved as Patrick scurried off, self-made pressure lighting the fire under his heels. Ryan tried to remember the last time he and Patrick had really spoken that much one-on-one. After his last birthday party, a distance seemed to grow between them, like Pete and Ryan traded one friend for the friendship of each other. Ryan didn't believe that, though. As his own person, there for every moment since catching Pete's eye at the party, there was no way Ryan wanted to repel Patrick; they were friends. Patrick was kind and considerate and consoling and brilliant and  _still_ didn't know how to dress like a teenager all the way as he de-aged from being an elderly man. Had Pete done it? Had the wedge been made by Pete, trying to distance him from his friends? Had Ryan kept his scar to himself and his mouth shut—in communication senses that is—would he have suffered full isolation? No. Ryan couldn't be manipulated that easily. No. And he couldn't be pushed over with as much force as it took to push a pride sticker to his locker.

Ryan tore the rest of the rainbow graffiti off and stuffed it into the bottom of his locker. He kicked it closed before taking off for his Latin class, hoping Spencer was already sitting in his desk, ready to have Ryan barge in, choice words firing from his lips. The hallways weren't crowded, but Ryan's journey to the classroom seemed delayed, people stepping out of his way in the last moment– like they were curious if he'd run into  _them_  too. Other students were staring at him for far longer than a typical high school glare of confusion and overall hatred of another person disturbing their personal space bubble that early in the morning; Ryan couldn't blame them. If some previously unknown  _prick_  came back to school a gay hero, stitches branding his flesh and feet pounding the ground like he could crack it with his toes, Ryan would hate the guy too. Hell, Ryan  _did_ hate him.

"Ryan, welcome back." Ryan's Latin teacher smiled at him for the first time. Ryan didn't know a fucking word of Latin, taking the class with enough resentment to carve out his own eyes, and his professor was grinning at him.

"Hi." Ryan waved quickly, eyes scanning for Spencer. He was already standing from his seat, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Ryan, holy shit." He met Ryan in his third hug that day, although an embrace from Spencer was more usual than one from Vicky or Patrick. Ryan wrapped his arms around Spencer's shoulders, feeling the pressure of Spencer's hands settle into the weak spots of his back. "Dude, where the fuck have you been?"

"I moved in with Gabe." Ryan said.

"Why not me?" Spencer asked, clutching him tightly despite the craning looks of the classroom.

"I can't ask that of your mom. She's done enough for me. The girls are enough on their own without adding me to the mix." Ryan said honestly.

"Don't shut me out though, alright, Ross? You hear me? You need anything and I'm there." Spencer said sternly, holding him at arm's length.

"Actually," Ryan said, lowering Spencer's arms. "you can tell me what the fuck Pete has been doing and why Pat is acting like the world is imploding."

"Oh, well Pete just couldn't mind his own damn business." Spencer grumbled, helping Ryan into his desk although he was perfectly capable.

"We already knew that."

"With Gabe completely wasted thinking about Will, me at band practice, and Patrick being soft-spoken, Pete has been able to turn us all into a fucking circus." Spencer huffed, folding his arms. "I haven't spoken to him in days. I am furious with him."

"How the fuck do you think I feel?" Ryan cried, speaking through his teeth. "He's outed me to the entire school! I had  _pride flags_  on my locker, Spence! You know how gaudy I think the rainbow crap is."

"I know. I know." Spencer sighed. "And William's sickness? Yeah, apparently that's an STD."

"Excuse me?" Ryan didn't care how loud his voice was getting. He was going to be screaming by the end of the conversation, but the rest of the room didn't matter. "Why would he do that?"

"I have no idea... I don't know what his angle is, Ry. He's self-destructing."

"And he's bring us down with him? How is that fair?" Ryan asked, throwing a hand up. "First, he punches Brendon, now he's ruining the rest of our lives—all while he gets to play the perfect boyfriend to someone who is completely  _obliv_ _i_ _ous_  to his crap? Bullshit."

"I know. We're trying to figure it out. I'm trying to keep the rumors from Gabe and I'm trying to defuse any Pride organization from getting their hands on your class schedule or phone number." Spencer said. "We'll ride this out together."

"Fucking dick." Ryan sighed, digging his phone out of his pocket and resting it beside his notebook on his desk. "Can't wait to tell Brendon he's been saved—well, in the non-religious way."

"You going to just text him?" Spencer asked, eyebrow lifted. He turned forward in his desk as their teacher redemanded the attention of the room, a stack of white paper folded in their hands.

"Why can't I?"

"Maybe explaining Pete's revenge plot is an in-person conversation?" Spencer suggested.

"No." Ryan said. "He'll understand." Ryan grabbed his phone and quickly typed out a message to Brendon.

_Fuck it. I'm mad again._

Ryan waited a moment, half listening to the teacher begin to explain the folded paper, before sending a follow up message.

_Somewhere you can meet me after class?_

Ryan turned his phone over, letting his eyes go up to his teacher, giving the impression he was listening. The words faded in and out of his consciousness as they explained the paper—homecoming court initial voting. The seniors got to be the first to vote while the other years would vote in the weeks to follow. The honor was all theirs to see who was nominated the week prior before the entirety of the school did. The papers were passed down the rows to each student, Ryan one of the last people to receive one. It was nothing more than a glorified piece of printer paper from the library. Ryan could see the two columns of names printed in the inside flap of the paper, all of them upside down. Not that Ryan would know the four girl and boy pairs that were listed anyway-- if they didn't know him, he tried not to know them. Ryan kept the paper folded on his desk and fiddled with his phone, sliding it against the edge of his notebook. Brendon was probably in class too, maybe morning prayer or something. Ryan began to get lost in the curiosity of what Brendon's school day was like—he'd have to ask.

"Ryan?" Spencer whispered, distracting Ryan from the thoughts of Brendon yawning lazily in his morning prayer, disinterested by the topic and distracted by how close he came to breaking every vow he promised a few hours earlier. Ryan looked over at Spencer, eyebrows raised. "Ryan. Look at your paper."

"I don't want to vote." Ryan whispered.

"No. Look." Spencer repeated, reaching over to flip the paper open.

Ryan rolled his eyes before scanning the names: Some girl named Chiara, Vicky surprisingly, Violet from student council, a foreign exchange student Nashia, and then some fifth name in a different font underneath the four girls—Ryan's. He was the fifth choice for homecoming queen; it was his coronation.

Ryan's phone buzzed against his desk once, twice, as Brendon text him back, but Ryan couldn't pull his eyes away from his own full name glaring back at him, just as smug as the face of the man that undoubtedly put it there. Patrick had tried to warn Ryan, tried to stop the prank that was literally unfolding on the desks of every senior in the building, but Pete had gone over everyone's heads. Pete put Ryan on the high school popularity map with something as simple as a piece of paper and stealing Patrick's key to the faculty copy room. He was putting everyone in the line of fire: Ryan, Patrick, William, Gabe, even Brendon.

If Brendon was in Ryan's rumored heroics by name, their secret was on a fast-track way of finding itself into the ears and vengeful hands of Brendon's church superiors. Brendon could be fired from his volunteer work for his blasphemous, outspoken sins. He could be humiliated, yet again, by Dallon in front of patients and peers. He could be forced to go on his mission to try and cure his straying behavior. He'd be uprooted to serve a purpose he didn't believe in. He'd be taken from Nevada and shipped somewhere else. He'd be taken from Ryan.

Fuck. Ryan's freedom was a foolish, naive mirage; Pete was still isolating him.


	16. Love Me Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry there was a delay with this chapter, I had to take a personal hiatus and take care of myself but I'm slowly coming back! This chapter is divided in half, the next one coming as soon as I can write it. Hope you enjoy and thanks for being patient with me!

Brendon was supposed to meet him during lunch; Ryan couldn't wait until the very end of the day to see him. He had nowhere to go during lunch besides hiding behind Gabe's car, trying to convince himself he didn't need to go there to cry. He was just trying to find peace and quiet, that was all. As the lunch bell rang, Ryan slipped passed walls of giggling and curious students. Gabe was already at Ryan's locker, voting paper in his hand, having not been turned in for the vote. 

"What in the motherfucking hell is this bullshit?" Gabe shouted, attracting faculty attention. Ryan didn't need any more looks. "Why is your name here?" 

"Ask Pete." Ryan spat, yanking his locker open. 

"Pete?" Gabe echoed, still shouting. "Spencer, do you know about this?" The boy was still at the other end of the hall but Gabe zeroed in on him. 

"Not this, no." Spencer said, waiting to answer when he was beside Ryan. Latin class had passed in a strange blur, Ryan handing the paper back to the teacher with a clammy hand and uncertainty of who he even marked off on the page if anyone at all. "This is too far." 

"You think?" Ryan barked. "See I thought him manipulating me was enough, I guess  _this_ was the part where you finally fucking notice." 

"We're on your side here, Ryan." Gabe said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't fight us." 

"Ryan!" Patrick was the last person Ryan wanted to have added to the group; he already sounded like he had bad news. 

"Pat,  _please_ don't make this worse." 

"No, no, student council is running the votes and the principal is ignoring the votes for you." Patrick said, trying to give the group a thumbs up, convincing them the news was strictly good. 

"People voted for me?" Ryan cried. "Patrick, that's not what I wanted to hear." 

"But..." Patrick looked at Gabe and Spencer with confused, wide eyes. "They aren't counting them." 

"Everyone still saw it though." Gabe reasoned, holding the paper out to Patrick. 

"I need fresh air." Ryan said, swatting the paper out of his face and hands off his shoulder. "I'll see you in calculus, Gabe." 

"Ryan, wait!" 

"No. I have to go." Ryan argued, marching to the front doors and shouldering anyone in his way. 

This wasn't the calm, typical reentry into normalcy that Ryan wanted, even  _needed_. He was already juggling his entire life up in the air, trying not to let anything fall and shatter on the ground, and Pete took the one last shred of serenity-- anonymity at school-- and made it impossible. The principal and student council would protect him from actually being named Palo Verde's Homecoming Queen, but that wouldn't erase the memory of every senior seeing his full name tacked onto the end of the list. If people didn't know him before, they were sure as hell asking questions after that. 

Ryan couldn't understand what Pete could possibly gain from disgracing his friends. Why ruin William's life, possibly having the news get back to his parents and making him get the first flight back to Chicago? Why taunt Gabe with another chance to beat Pete up? Why put Patrick in the middle of everything, knowing he couldn't do anything? Why make Ryan's already turbulent life even worse, all because he refused to let Pete in to see the mess it truly was? Ryan was hoping he didn't answer his own questions.; he wanted to think Pete had more motive than just pointless humiliation. 

Gabe's car was parked along the edge of the lot. Ryan raced to it and sat against the passenger side, facing away and hiding from the rest of the school. This wasn't Ryan's ideal new life. This wasn't how school was supposed to go when he woke up to a real family and a real home. Being hungry and scared and bruised and aching wasn't supposed to make school easier. He wasn't supposed to wish for his old life. Ryan could feel his nose beginning to tingle and sting as tears welled in his eyes. He was not a public crier. He didn't feel the need to cry in his high school parking lot. He never did it when his mother was dying, he never did it when his father was shouting at him through echoed memories; Ryan never broke once and all it took was Pete's asinine joke to get him. 

“Fuck. Come on.” Ryan muttered, covering his face. “This does  _not_  bother you.” He couldn't believe the lie if he was just on his own. And as if by cue, at the end of the road a short figure came skating into the parking lot. 

Brendon was in a collarless black jacket, sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he balanced on his skateboard. His uniform could be see beneath the bomber jacket, the khaki pants and navy polo attempting to distract attention from his outgoing radiance, all from rolling across the parking lot. He scanned the lot with nonchalant eyes, one hand holding a cup and mouth wrapped around a straw like it was trying to hide his smirk. He found Ryan sitting by Gabe’s car almost immediately. Even around the straw, he broke into a grin, the straw pinched between his teeth. It was endearing, but it also made Ryan’s conversation feel a lot more like waiting to poison a friend than just breaking bad news. 

“Hey, Ryan!” Brendon spoke above a whisper and it was already too loud for the parking lot. Ryan hushed and waved him forward, motioning for him to crouch behind the car as well. “Uh, hi. I-I didn’t expect you to text back so quickly… I figured you’d need some time.” 

“Brendon, I really need to talk to you.” Ryan knew there was still redness in his eyes, giving him away one way or another. It didn’t even matter anymore. "I couldn't wait until later." 

“Oh.” Brendon eased himself down onto the asphalt, shoulders rolling forward and body slouching. “This is about last night, isn’t it? Look, Ryan, I’m sorry. I thought I knew what I was—” 

“No! That’s not it. No. God no.” Ryan cried, reaching to place a hand over Brendon’s loudly running mouth. “No. It’s not that. It has nothing to do with that… I have no complaints, Brendon. It’s about Pete.” 

“Oh.” Brendon said again, his tone low and tense. “What did he do?” 

“He trying to fuck me—both of us, really.” Ryan groaned. 

“E—Excuse me?” Brendon said, growing pale. "What." 

“Fuck me  _over_. Ruin shit for me—for you too.” Ryan clarified, trying to convince the horrifying image that was crossing both their minds to leave them. “While I’ve been in the hospital, he’s been telling everyone I jumped in front of a car to save you.” 

“How is that horrible?” Brendon asked, his face furrowing. “That would make you seem awfully romantic, wouldn’t it?” Ryan pretended not to think of how  _un_ romantic it was to end their first date with a suicide attempt. 

“It would seem pretty fucking great,” Ryan agreed. “If I was an already  _out gay person_!” 

“You mean—” Brendon stopped, the words escaping in a gust of air as his mouth fell open. 

“He broke the news.” Ryan said, confirming the fear crossing Brendon’s face. “And said it was because I was stopping a homophobic hit and run of my  _shy_  and  _delicate_  boyfriend.” 

“Oh  _shit_.” Brendon breathed, holding his forehead. “Did he name me?” 

“I don’t think so.” Ryan said. “I don’t think anyone knows it’s you.” 

"How many people know?" Brendon asked, trying to calculate the damage. 

"Thanks to Pete, I'm pretty sure the entire school. I'm a full on fucking hero." 

"No. No no no." Brendon muttered, shaking his head. "Fuck, how did he know?  _How_  did he know?" 

"Know what?" Ryan asked. "About us? There's no way he was there last night—" 

"No. I'm on probation." Brendon said. "I was on thin ice as it was and then... I was stupid and I fucked myself. And now  _Pete—_ " 

"What happened?" 

"They saw us." Brendon said, looking at his hands. They were resting against the asphalt not an inch from Ryan's. He didn't close the gap. "When Will was coming to pick you up... Someone saw us. That little moment I thought was ours was put on blast for the entire volunteer department. They have my number and they are  _waiting_  to catch me." 

"Catch you doing what?" Ryan cried. 

"Disgracing the entire church by being the most popular and well received volunteer that also just happens to be the  _gayest one there_." Brendon held his temples as he sighed. "I just wanted to be infatuated with a boy for once in my damn life and not have it ruined by my job." 

"I know how that feels." Ryan muttered, laughing for lack of a better response. 

"Since when did being out get so damn complicated?" Brendon added rolling his eyes. "I mean, you deal with your gay friends all the time and it's like they don't even exist." 

"God, that sounds beautiful." Ryan admitted. "Not even existing. Just acting like It's all a big fucking joke. ' _Brendon who?_ '." It sounded like a dream, but in practice having to deny Brendon in public seemed horrible; he was the only one who knew things he already kept a secret from his friends—now to have Brendon be a secret? Ryan didn't think he could support the weight. 

"That's it!" Brendon cried, wincing and covering his mouth. "You've got it, Ryan. Just pretend you don't fucking know me." 

"What?" Ryan asked. "You want me to go back in the closet?" 

"No. That's not what I'm asking." Brendon said firmly, finally grabbing Ryan's hands. "But if our names don't cross, I don't get fired and your entire life doesn't go upside down." 

"What are you saying?" Ryan still wasn't following. It sounded like Ryan's life could be ending, but Brendon sounded the calmest out of the two of them. 

"We just pretend." 

"What?" 

"Pretend you don't know me. I don't know you. We hate each other. We can't stand the sight of the other, but really... We're seeing quite a bit of each other, you know?" Brendon broke into a grin at his own suggestive joke, scrunching his nose and making his freckles bunch together. "How about that?" 

"I--I don't know." Ryan muttered. Brendon couldn't become a secret. What would Ryan have left to show for himself? Everything would dissolve into hushed voices and hidden glances  _again_. He already did that. He was already a secret. "What about Friday?" 

"What about Friday?" Brendon asked, eyes furrowing. "I don't have work... We don't have a—a date. What's Friday?" 

"I get my stitches out." Ryan said. "And... And I want you to be there." 

"Ryan, come on. That's a little too obvious." Brendon sighed, squeezing his hands. "That wouldn't help you." 

"I don't think I can do it by myself though." Ryan admitted, closing his eyes and avoiding the look on Brendon's face as he witnessed Ryan become the fearful boy he stopped letting himself be since he was eleven. "I don't know if I can face another scar all on my own. And hiding this-- all of this? I don't know if I can do it. I can't—" 

"Okay, okay," Brendon hushed, kissing Ryan's hands. "So, I go. I go and we be honest with everyone." 

"I'm not brave without you." Ryan muttered. He kept his eyes closed to discourage any tears from sliding down his cheeks. 

"What are you talking about?" Brendon laughed, pulling Ryan into him and placing gentle hands on his back. "This is the bravest thing you could do." Brendon pressed Ryan's head against his shoulder, his hand resting on the back of his head and petting the hair Ryan had stared at in disgust a few hours before. "Don't say that. You are brave." 

"I'll help you find a new job." Ryan said into Brendon's shirt, turning his head and leaning his forehead against Brendon's neck. "One that doesn't treat you like shit." 

"Not a lot of places are hiring strictly on the merit that you're a Mormon and  _don't_  want to go to another country." Brendon sighed, rolling his eyes. "Their loss, honestly." 

"No, seriously. I'll help you find one. There's got to be something. I can't let you go to Haiti." 

"Dominican Republic. Geographically, close. Phonetically? Not so much." Brendon rested his chin on the top of Ryan's head, letting out a drawn out sigh. Although he was trying to laugh and his shoulders were shaking, he made no such sound. "Don't you worry about it." 

"I'll make it up to you." Ryan promised. "I'll save your ass  _one more time_."  

They rested beside Gabe's car, their bodies leaning against the other and hands gripping each other's coats out of desperation for answers, or at least something to ground them. How did everything change from the night before, dim lighting hiding them and their secrets from the world waiting outside of Ryan's house. They were together and private and beautiful. Brendon saw Ryan's history and his shame and didn't mind a single inch of the discolored skin. He touched it, ran his fingers over it—through every unspoken admission of guilt—and finally let it fade away into Ryan's back again. Ryan couldn't feel it anymore, it didn't feel like it was tearing his shoulders apart. It didn't feel like Brendon's hand was there trying to hold him together. Brendon had also been vulnerable. He let Ryan guide him to the brink of his knowledge, of his own body. There was safety in their privacy, their hidden secrets, but there wasn't any in pretending Ryan felt nothing for Brendon. There was no pride in that, no bravery. 

"Hey, I want you to come over tonight." Ryan said, pulling away to hold Brendon's face. "I want to see you again." 

"You're seeing me right now." Brendon laughed. 

"But I want to see you without your Sunday Best on." Ryan answered. "I can ask Gabe. I get us—" 

"Gabe? Why ask him?" Brendon interrupted. 

"Because he lives with me." Ryan and Brendon jumped apart at Gabe's voice accompanying the shadow being cast over them. 

"Jesus, Gabe! What the fuck!" Ryan cried, scrambling away from Brendon, pulling his hands as far away from Brendon as possible and shoving them in the front pocket of his jeans. "Don't creep up on us." 

"Sorry. Was I interrupting?" He sat on the hood of his car and propped his feet up on the front bumper. "Parking lot is kind of a public place, I've gotta admit. Granted though, I've done it in some weird places." 

"Done what?" Brendon asked, eyes wide. He wasn't used to Gabe's open approach to conversation. 

" _Don't_ answer that." Ryan said firmly, pointing at Gabe. He wasn't going to let Gabe take the vulnerability and naivety of Brendon's question and turn it to shame. "Secondly, that's gross, Gabe. I don't want to hear that. Thirdly, Brendon, I moved in with Gabe so I didn't live  _there_  anymore." 

"Oh." Brendon nodded. "That's good. I'm glad you left." 

"You knew?" Gabe asked, leaning his chin on his hand. 

"Do you mind, we're  _talking_." Ryan grumbled. "Trying to have a moment. Asking a boy out on a date here. Following your own goddamn advice." 

"Oh! Then, please, don't mind me." Gabe said. 

"This is pointless." Ryan whispered between him and Brendon. Brendon laughed and reached over to touch Ryan's knee. 

"I can be over by seven. In regular clothes. I'll bring flowers." Brendon kissed Ryan lightly squeezing his leg before standing. "See you then." 

Words failed Ryan. "I—cool." Brendon picked his cup and bag back up off the ground before stepping back on his skateboard. He winked at Ryan, placing the straw back in his mouth, and pushing off the ground. 

"'Cool'?" Gabe echoed. "That boy just basically told you that you were gonna get a  _little_  bit of something and you said  _cool_? Ryan, what the hell?" Gabe leaned back on his elbows, body stretched out along his hood. 

"Shut up about that shit, Gabe." Ryan said. He got to his feet, trying to regain control of the conversation. Although, Gabe's outstretched position made it seem impossible; his confidence and tight pants made that very clear. "Cool it with all the jokes." 

"Sorry. Just trying to break the ice here." Gabe held up his hands, trying to ease Ryan down. "Never leave a man behind." 

"What are you talking about?" Ryan sighed, brushing himself off and grabbing the bag he had thrown on the ground just before falling to both his knees and falling victim to his own tears. 

"You don't know how to go on a date." Gabe said, resting his head against the car and folding his hands over his stomach. "I mean, the last dinner you had with Brendon ended in William having another anxiety attack and you being hit by a car." 

"Fuck. You're right." 

"Bill and I will join you for a little to ease you into it." Gabe promised. "Hope you're ready." 

"I was nominated for Home Coming Queen today." Ryan said, throwing his bag over one shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I can handle some small talk." Ryan started walking back towards the school, hoping to leave Gabe and the conversation behind. Before he was even a car length away, Gabe spoke again, Ryan turning on a dime to face him. 

"Did you and Pete ever have small talk?" 

"What is  _that_  supposed to mean?" 

"Did you and Pete ever have small talk?" Gabe repeated. "You heard me." 

"No." Ryan gritted. "Actually no. We only ever really talked to discuss the finer points of where he wanted to stick it. Happy? Happy you're the only romantic here?" 

"Ryan, that's not what I meant." Gabe sighed, turning his head to face Ryan. "All I was going to say is that real dates are different. They're better. You have fun, Ry. You don't have to fake anything or pretend to be into someone or something you're not." 

"I—I know." Ryan said, defending his own cluelessness. "I know that." 

"Alright." Gabe hummed, facing the sky again and closing his eyes. "If you say so." 

"I have to go talk to Pat." Ryan sighed, walking away again. "Don't fall asleep and miss calc again." 

Ryan left Gabe to try and track down the student council president. Granted there wasn't much he could do about the votes or the ballots handed out, there  _was_  something about the situation that made Ryan want to become glued to Patrick's side; he had the authority in the situation and for once Ryan was on the side of someone who was in control. No one else was beside Gabe's car, the rest of Ryan's friends probably still scattered in the hallway, unsure if clustering together would make their target that much easier to spot and hit. Ryan knew Spencer would be with Jon—there was so much Spencer needed to know, the entire jostling of Ryan's world seemed to be made worse by the fact that through all of it him and Spencer seemed to be getting further and further away in both literal distance and the personal kind. He'd find Spencer later and debrief him; Patrick's locker was his first destination. 

Of all the things that weren't going right for Ryan that morning, the one thing that decided to be on his side were the hallways; there wasn't another soul in them. He didn't have to dodge pitiful stares or confused, half-committed glances. Ryan didn't have to deal with a single person calling him "your majesty" or bowing to his insulting "royal" status. The only thing he found in the hallway with him were the indistinct sound of another conversation. The words were muffled by their owners, trying to soften their already sharp tone to try and keep it between them, but the silence of the halls betrayed them. 

"You have to stop this." It was the first full sentence Ryan heard. It was a plea made at half volume, attempting to reach the other person. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being your friend if you're gonna pull this—" Ryan skidded to a halt, other footsteps beginning to inch closer to the corner of the hall Ryan was hiding in. Ryan pressed his back up against the wall and tried to look busy in the trashcan nearby as the conversation shifted closer to him, just beyond the corner. "This is too much." 

"Pat, wait! Please. Come on. Don't say that!" If it hadn't been for the names, Ryan would have never guessed the two parties; he had never heard Pete beg like that before. He sounded distraught and hurt, not one bit angry. "Pat come on, we're always going to be friends!" 

"Not if you keep lashing out like this. Stealing my key, Pete? Really? You're lucky I was with an administrator or else  _I_  would be on the line for your crap." 

"But I made  _sure_  you were with someone so you wouldn't get in trouble." Pete said. "You can't stop being my friend. You can't leave. I care about you, Pat—" 

"And I care about my friends, Pete. And they care about me! I can't keep siding with the person that is hurting them—and you are making that  _very_  difficult." 

"Patrick." 

"Look, Pete, I was there for you for this whole Ryan thing. I let it happen and I was supportive and listened, but  _this_  whatever  _this_  is, you can't keep doing this. I'm not like you and I'm sorry, okay? I wish we didn't have to do this  _every time_. I'm sorry you're still upset. I get it—you loved him. I get that. But you never told him so that's not his fault. You can't do this to him, to all of us." Patrick exclaimed, taking a long sigh. "Get it together Pete. For everyone. For yourself." 

Ryan wasn't sure how to process the conversation he wasn't supposed to hear in the first place. He leaned against the wall, listening to the footsteps go their separate ways down the hallway. Ryan expected Patrick to round the corner, Ryan ready to strike and pull him aside. What he didn't expect was a teary-eyed Pete to collide with him, Ryan staggering back and nearly falling to the ground. They stood at a distance, smoothing their clothes and trying to avoid the acknowledgement of the other. 

"If you heard any of that, I don't want to hear it." Pete said, stepping past Ryan. 

"Pete," Ryan started, grabbing his arm. 

"Does it change anything?" Pete asked, whipping towards Ryan. "Does it change  _anything_?" 

"No." 

"Didn't think so." Pete sneered, pushing past Ryan. 

Ryan tried to stop him again, although with nothing to say. Ryan just wanted to stop things from moving. He felt like there was something to do before the moment stormed down the hallway. There was something to argue, something to lash against, something to finally ask  _w_ _hy_. Gabe couldn't have been right all these weeks—he was rarely correct about anything—Pete  _was_  jealous. Jealous with no outlet except the life he had grown attached to. Ryan was going to have a date that night while someone else, somewhere in the neighboring streets, was in love with him. 

Ryan took off for the band room—nothing Spencer was practicing was going to be as important as this. 

* * *

"Wait, so let me get this straight." Gabe echoed a sentiment Spencer kept repeating, needing Ryan to repeat it multiple times, and then have Jon hear it and then regurgitate to him a sixth time. "Pete is mad because you don't  _love him_?" 

"I think so?" 

"Dude. Plot twist." Gabe breathed, shaking his head. Ryan waited until Gabe was already in the rhythm of driving before revealing the news; he didn't need another car accident in his life. "And you said he knows you know?" 

"Yup." Ryan nodded. "So... Now I think I've made it worse for myself. But that's been the mood this week." 

"You didn't make anything worse. It's Pete's goddamn fault." Gabe argued. "Not your fault this is how he chose to approach the subject. In my experience, not very effective." 

"How did you do it?" Ryan asked, eager for the comparison. Gabe already led on that what Ryan knew about relationships was horribly skewed-- as if he didn't know that from what he experienced with his parents. What was Ryan really getting himself into this time around? 

"Tell Will I loved him?" Gabe said. "Uh, let's see. It was right before my freshman year of high school." 

"You waited that long?" 

"We were children, Ryan. I didn't know love unless it was a holiday in February." Gabe laughed. "So, once we were a little bit older, we were at my house. We were watching a movie—I don't remember, I wasn't really watching it—but it had something that jumped out and scared the  _shit_  out of Will. He yelped, tensed up, and grabbed my hand. I thought he broke skin on my hand if I'm being honest." 

"And that's why you told him?" Ryan tried to follow. That sounded worse than the years he felt rejected and unlovable. Love from nearly drawing blood didn't sound that appealing. 

"No. I told him while I was trying to ease him back into his skin—looking back, his nerve stuff was pretty evident even back then. He was all jittery and I kissed his hands and told him he was safe, because I loved him." Gabe grinned at the memory. 

"That's all? No grand gesture?" 

"Nope. Sometimes love is just like that, man. Nice and easy." Gabe shrugged. "It should keep you wondering, but it shouldn't make you feel  _shitty_." Gabe knew, throwing a glance in his direction. "Not to say that you were in love before, but just for fair warning. What Pete has exposed you to is going to be fucking half-way sideways compared to what tonight is going to be like." 

"That isn't comforting." 

"Brendon is coming over for far different reasons than to insult you or—as you so nicely put it—decide where to 'stick it'." Gabe teased Ryan, poking his side with his fingers. "You'll have fun." 

"I swear to Christ, Gabe. Don't you make this weird on me." Ryan said firmly. "Don't be weird with Will, please. God, please don't." 

"I won't. This will be a nice date for us too. Haven't had one in a while since he's been in the hospital." Gabe said. "I'll be cool, Ryan. Don't worry." 

"I somehow have a reason to doubt you." Ryan muttered, pulling his bag into his lap. 

Gabe pulled up to his house laughing at Ryan's suspicion. Ryan left Gabe in the car still trying to stifle his laughter and headed for the front door. Gabe's laughter didn't lessen Ryan's nerves. Granted, Gabe and William never acted in a way that was unbearable or bothersome, but Ryan just wanted to make sure there were no extraneous things that would make his inexperience show more brightly in his blush. Brendon had probably been on dates before; he probably held hands with someone he thought was the cutest thing to bless his small world. He knew what to do, what to say, how to get to know someone without swallowing every word forcing its way up to the confessional. 

"We're back." Ryan called into the house. "Bill, Brendon's coming for dinner, is that okay?" Ryan didn't hear anyone in the kitchen and checked the couches for napping bodies. "Bill? Are you here?" Gabe's house wasn't supposed to be silent, that's why Ryan moved; to have life. Silence answered Ryan and began to worry him. He started down the hallway, his voice growing. "Bill? Are you here? Are you okay?" 

Ryan grabbed the doorknob to Gabe's room and nearly twisted it off the door as he shoved it in. Gabe's room was still disheveled, the sheets wrinkled and balled up at the end of the bed, clothes on the floor, books on his night table and half going unused. The room was still, no life having passed through it recently. Like he just got up and left. 

"WIlliam!" Ryan yelled, slamming the door closed. "Will, are you here?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Will?" Ryan turned to see William walking out of the bathroom, eyebrows furrowed and two hands clasping each other nervously. "What the hell where you doing?" 

"Peeing?" 

"Why didn't you answer me?" Ryan demanded. 

"I had my dick in my hands. And wasn't about to engage in a conversation with you." William said slowly, eyeing Ryan up and down. "Is everything okay? You look on edge—and that's me talking." 

"Answer me next time." Ryan said, turning away from him again. "Don't do that." 

"I—Okay." William said, clearing his throat. "So... How was your first day back?" 

"Ask Gabe." Ryan muttered. He went back for his room and closed the door over on William's concerned face. 

The mirror reflected Ryan's ghostly face as he leaned against the door, chest heaving and hands shaking. The room was resting on water, the floor wobbling and curving as Ryan tried to stumble his way over to the bed and find somewhere steady to fall. Standing in an empty house should have been a comfort to Ryan, but in the bright light of Ryan's new window and now disturbed blanket of silence in his room, it was a terror. Now that Ryan was in a house full of life, he was constantly afraid it would empty. His escaped past was still very much a possibility if William or Gabe decided that Ryan's shenanigans and trouble wasn't worth it. He'd only have the silence to return to, but his mother wasn't resting in that one. She wasn't waiting, wasn't listening. The silence that was following Ryan, ready to encase him at any moment and take him back. Take him back to keeping secrets and scars to himself and leaving everyone else out in the noise. Ryan had gotten so much by breaking his silence, but he had so much more to lose by going back to it, not fighting it. 

Silence kept him with Pete, kept him confused and on a leash and accepting the internal hatred Pete was plating for Ryan's consumption. Poison was easier to swallow in half the dose. Pete's own silence got Ryan right where he was, spinning with their new relationship complexity—was Pete now an ex-boyfriend? If he loved him, that made everything they did more serious. That made  _Ryan_  the villain. Ryan had no reason to be mad anymore. Brendon had helped him heal over something that was probably his fault. Ryan had broken someone's heart when he didn't even know that  _that_  was the silence settling in his hands the whole time. 

"Gabe, go talk to him." 

"I'm not his  _father_. He's a grown fucking man. He's allowed to be in his room alone." 

"Gabe, he seemed upset." 

"Bill, I'm not going in there." 

"Why not?" 

"Because he's probably nervous! It was a weird day for him." Gabe said, his voice coming through the door more clearly as he shouted. "Pete did some stupid prank—two actually and now everyone knows he's gay, and maybe with Brendon, I don't know. And then, to try and make some fucking normalcy for himself, he asked Brendon to dinner. Here. Tonight." 

"Busy day. Got it." William said shortly. "Are we supposed to leave the house tonight, or?" 

"No, I said I'd be here to show him date stuff. Pete never fucking took him on one so I want Ryan's experience with  _actual_  dating to be a positive one. And not littered with the trash dribbling out of the fucking jerk's mouth." Gabe said sternly. "So dress nice, Beckett. We're having a nice fucking date." 

"You know, you don't have to threaten me." William laughed, his voice shifting directions. "I'll do pretty much anything that will end in seeing you naked." 

"Anything?" 

" _I CAN HEAR YOU_!" Ryan yelled from his bed, flopping down onto the pillows. "And I'm FINE!" 

* * *

The clock hanging in Ryan's room seemed to race unnaturally fast toward seven o'clock. Since lying on his bed, Ryan hadn't found the energy to move an inch. At first, it was exhaustion from having to sprint to catch up with his day, but as the hours passed, it became paralyzation. Ryan asked a boy on a date, to  _dinner_  and he had no idea what he was supposed to do or say. They had been making out less than twenty-four hours before and Ryan exposed his own worst fear, and somehow sitting at a dining table felt like an impossible task. He had no conversations prepared, no pick-up lines to fall back on, hell Ryan didn't even have any clothes to wear. 

"Hey Will?" Ryan emerged from his room slowly, his feet still wobbling as they tried to secure the next step. 

"Hey!" William was standing in Gabe's room, hair in his hands and being folded into a bun. "Is everything okay?" He spoke softly, knowing something was on Ryan's mind but giving him the chance to deny it quickly. 

"Yeah. I'm okay... I just need your help." Ryan admitted. "Can I borrow some of your clothes for tonight? I don't have anything nice." 

"Of course, yeah, sure." William agreed, touching Ryan's arm as he passed him and walked to the closet. "Do you just want a dress shirt or something?" 

"Yeah, that would be fine." Ryan nodded, speaking in an amplified whisper. "Thanks." 

William shuffled through the closet, sliding shirts over before pulling on out. "This one is black. Hides stress sweat well." He knew without Ryan even saying it. 

"I'm going to need that." Ryan reached out and took the hanger, looking at the shirt closely. The shirt was two different colors of black, a matte fabric creating mute paisley designs across it. "This is nice." Ryan said blankly. 

"It's good luck." William said, grinning. "I wore that to my first high school debate team competition." 

"You lost that debate." Ryan recalled. 

"Yes, but I didn't stutter or throw up after the public speaking; it's good luck." William winked, walking back to the mirror and continuing to fix his hair. "I think you're going to need that luck today; you'll feel unsettled the entire time, but It's going to be the best time of your life." 

"I hope you're right." Ryan muttered, pressing the shirt to his chest and turning to go back to his room. It was searing irony that Ryan was taking dating advice from the very people that would make him flare with jealousy whenever they were around, having everything they could ever want in each other. It was the first thing Brendon really knew about him, spotting from a moment's passing. 

Ryan closed the door over before pulling his shirt over his head and unbuttoning Will's from the hanger. Once it held Ryan as its model, it looked a lot less lucky and more like Ryan was a mortician. He looked ridiculous. He never wore anything that hadn't been on the floor of his bedroom for at least two weeks beforehand. His shirt had no creases besides the one meant to show that it was ironed. How could Ryan expect to wear William's clothes without looking like a damn fool-- the man wore bandanas and had hair longer than half the cheerleading squad. God, Ryan was a fucking idiot. It wasn't too late to cancel, was it? He was in way over his head. Maybe he could call it off and move back home-- 

"Hey," Gabe poked his head in the door, eyes falling on Ryan's shirt through the mirror's reflection. "Just saw Brendon skate down the street—he's still trying to find the house number so you have about two minutes." Gabe laughed, still looking at Ryan. "Nice shirt." 

"Thanks." Ryan deadpanned. "It's Will's." 

"Well, to be honest, it looks better on you." Gabe muttered, lifting his hand to his mouth. "You sure you want to go on this date with Brendon? I'll trade you." 

" _I heard that!_ " William called. 

"Kidding!" Gabe answered, jokingly shaking his head at Ryan. "Really though, it looks nice.  _You_  look very nice." 

"Thanks." Ryan ducked his head and smoothed down the hair trying to reach his collar. "I better go to the door. You sure I don't like a fucking clown?" 

"You're fine." Gabe assured him, winking. "Knock 'em dead, killer." 

Ryan laughed weakly as he passed Gabe and went to the front door. Knocking himself dead was what he tried to do on their last dinner date with Gabe and William. He didn't think he wanted this date to end the same way; Brendon was supposed to wear his good tie this time around.


End file.
